Chain of Memories
by Soshite
Summary: Formerly 'Unable To Recall'. Severus Snape is hiding from everyone and everything...including his own mind. But he can't escape the music. Slight OOC, slight AU, slightly part of a bigger fanfic. This drabble got bigger than expected...
1. Unable To Recall

There it was again, just sitting innocently on the bedside table of his room. It had been sitting there for a while now, collecting dust for a few weeks. It was the only thing he had taken with him from Hogwarts as he ran from his chambers, after stunning Flitwick, towards the Astronomy Tower. Why he had taken it at all baffled him to no end.

He knew that it had been important, but he didn't quite know why. And for inexplicable reasons he felt a great...discomfort in its presence. Yet he never dared to open it--or throw it away for that matter. Like whenever he saw pansies. He knew that they meant something to him, but couldn't figure out what or why. Also peculiar was that he knew what these pathetic excuses for weeds meant.

A purple pansy symbolized 'souvenirs' and meant 'The thoughts of happy days spent together are my greatest treasure.'

Although Severus wanted to sneer at this he could not bring himself to do so. There were happy memories, this he knew, and they were there, yet unreachable.

White pansies were for 'thoughts of love'. In full they spoke 'You are ever in my thoughts.'

Strangely, no particular face came to mind Just an unsettling blankness that should not be there.

A yellow pansy...'rememberence'.

"Though you are absent..." he whispered under his breath, "...I never cease to think of you."

He snorted. How absurd that he knew such drivel. Why did he know it at all? Worse yet, he had the most embarrassing near-crying episode the other week when he was met face-to-face with a small field of little blue flowers that constantly haunted his mind. They were someone's favorites, he knew. Someone still so very important, yet he had forgotten who. He couldn't recall a face or a name.

He glared at the thing on the bedside table. It all started with the blasted thing, somehow. It was really rather daft of him for acting as he did.

It was just a bloody music box!

It was decided he would open the damn thing and if he found nothing of value inside, he would just throw it away. It was just a piece of Muggle rubbish after all. But once again, a part of him felt...discomforted, moreso with his new thoughts. He unlatched the lid and opened the box.

He stopped.

Sweet, twinkling music eminated from the little wooden box, soothing and gentle, yet incredibly melancholy. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes for some odd reason. What was this? His heart ached as well, suddenly hit with an emotion rather foreign to him. It was an unusual feeling, not all that bad, but gut wrenching all the same.

He was _longing_.

But what did he long for? He couldn't recall. And yet...

"I must keep you safe." he said, directing his words to the playing music box. "Though I do not understand why." He hadn't felt this bad since that time in his fifth year when he had been humiliated by James Potter and his little groupies in front of the one girl he could have possibly liked or made friends with. He didn't remember a sorrow like this since the days of his childhood under the rule of his Muggle father and certainly did not know the pain he did as he had killed his mentor.

There was another feeling. Betrayal. He had betrayed someone...someone who cried for him with tears of petals.

He missed this person, the only one who would weep if he had left and done his deed and whose face he did not remember. He stroked the little dove flying in a circle with a raven as its companion in the music box. This was a gift, he remembered. But to who? He furrowed his brows as he reached into the box and pulled out a small, familiar blue flower.

A forget-me-not.

Her favorite.

His reminder.

A tear fell down a sallow cheek as he found another item in the box. Quickly, he slammed it shut. No could not be so sentimental. Being sentimental was a weak quality in a person...even if he heard a soft voice at the back of his mind telling him it wasn't so. And he had a lot to do and the last thing he needed was for the Dark Lord to see through him and find a weakness...

He considered throwing away the music box after all, but couldn't bring himself to do it again. It contained 'memories' and according to him, they were precious ones meant to be kept away for another agonizing day.


	2. Unable To Resist

A/N: Okay, I hadn't planned on expanding on Unable To Recall at all, but I felt that I should somehow...Mostly for my own amusement and for those who are curious about what the hell is going on. Once again, spurr of the moment, but not written at 4 a.m. like UTR was. A reminder, this is slightly AU as in 'alternate universe'. As far as I know, Snapey never loved anyone to my knowledge...at least...not to the point where he feels guilty about something...Oh, yes! If anyone is interested with the music that the music box plays...you can listen to it. :D It's at wwwDOTgeocitiesDOTcomSLASHpainfulsinsSLASHOkageShadowKing-MusicBoxDOTmid I'm sure you're all smart enough to replace the dots with periods and the slashes with...slashes. Yeah.

He was toying with it again.

Even weeks, months after his flight and initial curiosity with its contents, he still played around with it. He even let it play for hours on end after he finally got over his feelings of hurt and discomfort, though they had not left him for a long time. The music emboldened him, saddened him, soothed him to slumber and inspired him to continue on with his duties. Frustration was also a part of the various things he felt when he heard the twinkling melody of the music box.

A week after he first opened it and listened to the music, he studied it intently. It was made of oak, careworn and carved with the utmost simplicity. It was small and very lightweight, even with the added weight of its contents. But he looked no more until a week after where he checked the inside of the box once again. As the music played and the raven and the dove danced, he inspected the interior, pointedly avoiding the little blue flower he had set back inside with the other seemingly innocent item within. The dove and raven were little wooden carvings that had been painted carefully with a ridiculous amount of attention to detail. Soft, red velvet lined the inside of the box. He found the remains of a name scratched out in a tiny corner of the lid. The only letter he could make out was an 'L'. At least...he thought it was an 'L'...

He had been told many a time by his 'allies' about how tiresome and annoying the device was. They complained how he continuously kept winding it up and letting it go on and on as he did nothing for just as long. He would just scowl at them and they would shut-up for at least another hour or so before starting up again. Truth be told, after so many weeks the infuriating thing was also maddening him. The mystery of the box was unable to be resolved and he was still unable to resist it at the same time. He was unable to proceed with anything lest he found out why the music sometimes brought him to the edge of tears, made his heart feel while at the same time provide such delicate solace and a sense of...

Severus closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh as the melody came to an end halfway through its song. He let the box sit in silence for a while, contemplating. He ran a hand through his hair before covering his face with his hands for a moment.

Though most of those unwanted feelings left with his willingness to listen to the melody relentlessly, there was still that discernable sense of incredible guilt that refused to leave him. There had been a deed that he had done that rivaled--and possibly even overshadowed--the time he had raised a wand to Dumbledore, but once again, he could not recall what. He didn't know what to do. He felt helpless when he tried to cast his mind to a time that, according to his memory, had never existed.

He picked up the other item from within the silent box. He stared at it and the little piece of paper attached to it. He read the paper.

"Just a link amongst a longer chain of memories." he spoke, dark brows furrowing. He stared at the object in his hand. Ah, so the silvery liquid cheerily shining within the vial in his grasp was indeed a memory of some sort. But what did she--he was assuming that it was the one who haunted his mind with her absence--mean by chain of memories?

How to proceed?

He knew next to nothing of this music box except that one, it was important to him and two, he, for one reason or another, made a special promise to take care of it. Circumstances in the past told him not to trust strange objects, but as he had checked the music box over and over or any hidden hexes, jinxes or curses and turned up with nothing, he knew that there was nothing in particular to fear from the box itself.

It was the memory of which he held. Unlike popular belief, memories put into pensieves could be faulty. Extremely faulty should the mind that they had come from be disorderly and clearly not sane. That's what he needed, to go through the memories of a crazed lunatic.

But not knowing seemed worse than knowing at this point. He needed to know. He had to. Something was pushing him into looking into this one memory.

"July 21st, 1995." was the label on the vial. So there was a specific date. He wondered, what had he been doing that day? It hadn't been that long ago...

He distinctly remembered that he had gone out to gather ingredients for the Darught of the Living Dead. He frowned. Now why had he gone and do that for? The student cabinet--and his personal stores--were always full of aspodel and wormwood no matter the time of year. And considering that it had been July 21st, the stores would have been filled to capacity already. On July 1st, he always cleared out any old and rotten ingredients and then on the following day of July the second, he would go to Diagon Alley and purchase new ingredients. This was a yearly chore that he did ever since his first year as a professor at Hogwarts.

He looked to the silent music box.

"You're more trouble than you're worth." he told it. It, being and inanimate object, gave no answer. Now where was his pensieve...?

-----------------------------

Well, he was right. He had been out collecting ingredients...incredibly fresh ingredients, might he add that had been arranged into some sort of bouquet. He found his memory self in his home at Spinner's End, grooming himself--a task which he did do every day thank you very much--before settling into just a button up shirt and trousers. Something of a summer attire since he was not mad enough to wear three layers of all black cotton clothing all year round. He found himself fidgetting a bit and frowning at himself in the mirror for a good ten minutes. A record, to say the least. And then he left the house to go searching in the nearby fields of the villages which grew all sorts of flora for most of the year.

Severus was frowning as he watched himself carefully pluck each and every plant as he scoured the fields for asphodel and wormwood. He was usually careful in proceeding with plants overall, especially if he wanted them fresh, but he usually took the root along with the rest of the plant. Now, why was he omitting the roots? All of the plant had to be used. He knew it wasn't neccessary per se, but he was never one to aimlessly waste resources. His past self procured a good amount of the flowers and went home to arrange them properly. He had to admit though, he did rather well. Although he did wish that the blossoms could have been any other color, but yellow. His other self went to a secluded spot amongst some buses and trees then Apparated. The scene around became black and then slowly faded in to reveal a new scene in play.

He was in Diagon Alley, near the Apothecary and his other self was making his way through the quite empty streets. Severus looked up at the sky and found that it was just barely past dawn. Very few would be up at this ungodly time. Quickly, he followed the memory as it was being played out to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. The tavern was empty, uncharacteristically quiet for the times he had visited the place it had been god awful loud and full of obnoxious and drunken patrons. He wondered why he had come here at all. And looking looking like a fop while carrying a bouquet of flowers.

And then it struck him as familiar the way he hesitated in continuing down the hall of the second floor. He fidgetted again and looked paler than he usually did. Could it be possible...?

Severus found himself feeling a little over-anxious. Right then. He was finally getting to the bottom of things and he could get on with the rest of his godforsaken life. He almost started yelling obsenities at himself for dawdling and looking like a moron. Did he always slouch so? He never thought he did. And he did suppose that his hair was a bit greasy now that he had a bit of an outsider's point of view. Note to self: use less conditioner or not at all. He scowled at himself for taking so long. He was still just standing at the edge of the stair, holding the flowers, contemplating his next move.

"Go see her you fool!" he ordered aloud. God, it was like fighting off an incredibly hardand powerful Imperius...or worse...having to deal with a thickheaded Longbottom.He was feeling a headache coming on between his brows. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Had he always seemed so pathetic? Somehow not remembering this day seemed like such a good thing...

Finally, they moved on to a door with the number '18' in polished bronze. He knocked.

For a bit there had been no answer, but after a second knock there came a muffled 'Coming!' before the door opened.

Well, this was certainly...surprising. As he new himself the best he knew, by all rights, that he was just a nasty old man who could get pretty snarky even during the best of times. He also knew that he was no 'Prince Charming' when it came to looks either. He had heard the rumors that spread throughout the school. The words 'bat', 'greasy git' and 'ugly bastard' often came up wherever his name was concerned amongst the student populace. So, naturally, whatever female that came near him was most likely deranged, an epitome of evil and most likely not that pleasant to look at--unless you didn't count Narcissa, but she and the rest of the Blacks were in a category all of their own. They could be 'the demons who have taken a beautiful face'. But...

She was no stunning beauty. This was for sure. She wasn't downright ugly either. But from what he saw as the door opened that she had a pleasantly plump, healthy and slightly pear shaped figure which already spoke volumes to him about her habits. She had obviously just gotten out of a bath as her dress--a nice summer dress as white as snow--was clinging to her legs a bit and her dark hair was wet. And though there was a towel obscuring her face at the moment--or was it some sort of shadow?--she had a pretty smile that sent that old feeling of sudden familiarity through him. And that was what stood out from the rest of her. That smile. The way her coral lips were curled up gently and begetting a sense of enticement to bring light from the heavens upon the darkness of the times they had been brought into being.

Strange sentiment coming from him, but the truth.

And then he heard her speak.

"Asphodel and wormwood bouquet?" she asked quietly, sounding rather amused. She chuckled lightly as she took the bouquet from his other self's hands. "My, how practical Severus." She continued to laugh gently as his other self seemed to scowl at her in disdain. He never liked being laughed at and he felt what his other self was feeling, but he also felt that it was alright that she was laughing. That this meeting had not turned out disastrous at all. She stopped herself and gave him an apologetic looked as she looked up into his memory's eyes, the towel still on her head and shadowing half of her face from his view. How Severus wished he could have just snatched it away to reveal who she was already! "I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have laughed." she said, sounding apologetic, yet still amused at the same time. His memory's scowl had not left him however. In fact, it deepened.

"Severus." he grounded out. She blushed and looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Severus. Force of habit." she said. She looked up again and smiled. Severus looked on, so far able to take all of this in stride. But this scene did not really explain anything at all, really. Now that he had seen her, more questions arose in his mind. Like why wasn't he able to see her face? Who was she really? Was she a student? Was that why she had called him 'Professor'? Dear Merlin forbid it if he had started to fancy a student of some sort! Especially if she were...He shook his head. No, he had much better sense than to fall for any student. And if he had at least not from his own school. Excluding one Miss Hermione Granger, the whole lot of the female population of Hogwarts were a bunch of dunderheads, some professors included. And considering he could still remember the insufferable know-it-all he knew for a fact it wasn't her either. Had Severus an ideal woman she would be intelligent, pleasant, yet able to hold her own and have her wits about her. And somewhat good looking, he supposed...He hoped that whatever children he begot that they could at least be better looking then he even if they developed his rather surly attitude.

He decided that this woman warranted further investigation as the memory ended. If this memory were, but a link in a chain of memories...his memories, then there should be others...

But where could he find them?

---------------------------

Just so you guys know...I looked up asphodel and wormwood and the most common ones I've seen that grow around here are indeed yellow. And yeah, they would make a nice--if functional--bouquet. Comes from working in a flowershop for a few years.


	3. Unable To Sleep

A/N: Who here feels sorry for the bloke? I know I'm not...Okay, so maybe I feel a little sympathy for him...for the fact that he's slightly amnesic, but bloody hell can Sev be a bastard sometimes...

The most obvious first place to look had been the very thing that started everything and it was the music box. The first time that he had investigated it he had tried to find anything harmful hidden inside its wooden barriers and he had come up with absolutely nothing. This time he was going to try and find any other secrets that it held. And rather unsurprisingly, he found...absolutely nothing. Odd really, that he suspected so much from the thing, but expected very little from it, except a few comforts. But something had kept the forget-me-not so fresh within the velvet lined interior, some sort of charm or enchantment.

_Or maybe she had been very proficient in potions_, he thought with a bit of irony to himself. Leave it to him to grow close to a woman who could endanger his credibility in brewing. _A simple enough solution could very well keep a silly plant such as this for a very long time._ With these thoughts he wondered--and not for the first time--what this mystery woman in white, or the White Lady as he sardonically came to call her after replaying the memory so many times in his head, was really like. One memory with barely a few words passed between himself and this person did not tell him much. It only served to show how pathetic and inadequate he himself was compared to most males in front of the opposite gender. She had smiled at him, so there was a bright side as illogical as it seemed. Someone actually smiled at him and meant it? What was the world coming to?

He had not wound up the music box again, not ready to hear its melody again for a while. He felt cross with it, really. But that was a good thing. Anger was so much more easier to deal with than helplessness, guilt and despair. So much easier and better, familiar ground. When he was angry he could find a reason to bring focus to himself and concentrate on a difficult task.

"_Silly unsentimental man_." he heard then, at the back of his mind. "_Your mistrust wounds me above all else_."

He sighed. Words...faded memories such as those kept coming back to him. No face came to mind, but always in her voice in great clarity. The voice that had been so quiet before was now like a loud siren in his mind that refused to shut off. Oh, yes, he was definitely going to put an end to all this. He had a duty to do for the ones who fell and this madness was keeping from it.

_But why am I doing this?_ he thought to himself as he disguised himself with magic for the excursion ahead. He could have just dropped the entire matter. So what if he hadn't rememberd this woman? It wasn't as if she mattered that much, did she? No, it was mostly for the injustice that somebody had tampered with his memories that he had been doing this. He could not sleep as long as his memories were scattered all over the British Isles. Someone could use them against him and that was something he most definitely could not permit. He left his little hideaway in an indignant huff as he thought about all the things he could possibly do to the offender--most likely the White Lady--when he found them. Nasty thoughts ran through his mind as he found himself taking a familiar trail through fields of flowers where little yellow blossoms were blooming cheerfully at his feet and into a secluded area to Apparate to Diagon Alley and inevitably make his way to Room 18 of the Leaky Cauldron.

--------------------------------

Well, that little venture had clearly been a waste of time.

Tom, the keeper of the Leaky Cauldron, had been little help to him. Though the help he did receive was useful, if only to discern the nature of the White Lady.

"She was always such a strange girl. She rented out number eighteen for the last, lets see...almost six years. I'm surprised that she hasn't come round just yet. She usually comes to stay for the summer." he explained, shaking his head as he went through his books.

"Six years? And where is she if she isn't here?" he asked under the guise of one Laertes Imrahil, a supposed investigator of missing persons. He would have pretended to be a friend of hers if not for one flaw in his testimony to prove his truth...he did not know her name. Family was also out of the question.

"Something about teaching." Tom answered offhandedly. "She said she wanted to be a teacher. Not really sure what she taught thought. But she talked about flowers all the time, so she might've assisted a professor in Herbology."

After this enlightening conversation, he was shown the way to her room where he spent a good few hours investigating. The room was mostly bare, except for the few ornaments and pieces of furniture within it, and most that he had found were books. Not that particularly interesting to note, but they were there. Lots of textbooks from the Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 to Advanced Transfiguration, all well used and written in. Well, if she had wanted to become a teacher, he supposed that it was a good thing she decided to verse herself with knowledge on Basic Healing. If nearly two decades of teaching at Hogwarts taught him anything that students had a tendency of getting themselves injured on an almost daily basis. There wasn't nearly a day when someone didn't need to visit Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing. There were a few things he did find inside the textbookswhen he skipped through them and that was music sheets. Severus never claimed to be an expert of the arts--except in Potions--but he certainly could recognize, and appreciate, the choice of the songs.

Some were by composers like Beethoven, Mozart...many by Webber and Kopit...There were many songs he found by the man endearingly called by some of the musical goers of the world as the 'Grandfather of All Musicals'. Most from Phantom of the Opera.

So...mostly she was a student professor for nine months of the year, if not already a professor and possibly for Herbology. She lived in Diagon Alley during the summer and she liked music.

Severus wondered what he saw in her and a small tug at the corner of his lips appeared as he thought that his other self must have had the same thoughts as least a few times.

_Or maybe the real question is...what did she see in you?_

The not-at-all-a-smile soon vanished and was replaced with a heavy frown. He reassessed the memory again for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out where that particular train of thought had come from. He seemed rather...fond, if such a word could be used with him, of the girl. He was in good terms in that memory of her. Had he been truly that cordial? Had he always been that way at all? Or was it only for her and that smile? There was also another nagging question.

If she stayed at the Leaky Cauldron every summer, shouldn't there be evidence of that stay right now?

Of course, like in every inn, the room was kept clean and in order so he wouldn't be able to tell from simple observation. And there wasn't exactly any particular spell he knew that could tell him if anyone had slept in the bed or not.

This was the second most obvious place to look as it was shown to him clearly in the memory of July 21st, 1995.

"You know, it's not polite to look through a lady's things." said his reflection in a wall mirror. He scowled at it and it also scowled at him. Even if the person he looked at wasn't exactly him, as long as he had a look of total disdain he wuld always manage to look as himself. "Particularly if she shows interest in you."

"And what do you know about interest."

"More than you'd like. I am you."

"You're nothing more than what I could have been."

The mirror remained silent for a while.

"Whatever it is you want to find, you'll never find it here."

"Clearly."

And so he left with a sneer to his reflection.

--------------------------------

Ironically enough, his answer came to him from the music box when he arrived 'home'. Tired and fatigued he wished to get a semblence of rest so he opened it again after winding it up to soothe his nerves. At first he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The dove was chased by the raven and the twinkling music helped him ease his mind a little. His earlier anger and disdain with the whole situation of his lost memories forgotten for the moment. He wanted to take another look at the forget-me-not when he found another vial inside the box labeled for December 24, 1994. His initial reaction was to sneer. That had been the day of the Yule Ball for the Triwizard Tournament. It had been a most displeasing day full of chattering, hormonal students who didn't have the propriety to keep their hands off of each other. He had either spent the evening blasting rose bushes or had to entertain a hysterical Karakoff who kept moaning about his bloody Dark Mark. It seemed to be a full evening without much amiss. With the new information he had been given at the Leaky Cauldron and the knowledge of the school charter in mind he knew that she couldn't have possibly have been there...had she?

Though he had enough conviction to believe that she hadn't he still felt an uncertainty. He simply groaned as a headache came on once again. He covered his face with his hands. Somehow, he knew he was going to have another sleepless night if he continued dilly-dallying in indecision. He music stopped and he stared at the vial.

Oh, hell. What did he have left to lose?

His sanity had left him the moment he opened the music box.


	4. Unable To Comprehend

A/N: Hehehehe…I bet you guys never saw THIS chapter coming.

Dedications: This chapter is dedicated to my friends at home (Ida, Amy and Eri) and to a friend in the US (Raven). Enjoy your 'longer' chapter.

In all truthfulness…he _had_ expected to see her there, wearing an elegant set of white robes or dramatically making her entrance into the Great Hall in a swirl of an extravagant white ball gown. She would smile and dance with his memory self in some sort of spectacular performance meant to dazzle all that saw them, wringing applause from all that were around them.

He really should stop assuming such strange notions.

The evening had started out as it had three years ago with himself procrastinating his arrival at the blasted ball. His presence had not been required, but he went anyways to keep tabs on his 'dear friend Igor' for the night in case he did something rash. He watched in interest as his memory self dressed in his best set of robes and fixed his hair until it was quite presentable and less…greasy. Darn potion fumes. He never could get them out. Checking his current memory, he remembered doing all of this exactly. He did dress to impress when he felt the need, although he couldn't bring himself to understand why he would try at all considering he was going to spend the night with a bunch of loathsome, hormonal, touchy-feely teenagers intent on sucking each other's faces. He had managed to console himself that night that he had been able to keep Karkaroff from going ballistic and that he had been able to enjoy a full moon without fear of a certain werewolf…

…A full moon?

He frowned at himself as he followed the memory through the Slytherin halls, stopping one moment to stare at a painting of Salazar Slytherin. The portrait raised a brow at them. "She's not in." he told them and then they moved on before Severus had a moment to think on what the portrait had meant. Though he did notice that his memory was moving with more haste than before…maybe even with a lighter step? And most importantly of all…there was a room behind that portrait? He had crossed it many times before, but never had he known that there was a room there…

The hallways, ceremony and dinner went by quickly enough. He gave an amused snort as he watched Potter stumble about in an awkward attempt to dance. One thing he definitely did not inherit from his father. Granger was dancing with Krum, a few Weasleys were about and that great big oaf Hagrid was stomping around with that Maxime, almost crushing and running over quite a few students in their wake.

Alongside his memory, he swept around, keeping an eye on things, but there was some difference in how their eyes searched about. His were trying to piece together exact instances while his other self was distractedly keeping an eye out for something, or possibly someone. He felt that there was something of interest that should be happening as the night stretched on and that ill-fated talk with Karkaroff began. He looked up to the sky to find it cloudless, sprinkled with stars and lit with a large and round moon. Despite his past he had…somewhat enjoyed just looking at it. It was a light he knew most intimately...more so than sunlight.

The sky coupled with the fairy lights dancing merrily along the roses, marbled statues and the large fountain in the middle of all, it proved to be a very romantic night…

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Fawcett!" his memory self spat out vehemently as a girl who ran off, along with her little boy toy when he also took off ten points from Ravenclaw. He blew up quite a few rose bushes in his fury. And of course…nosy 'Saint Potter' had been around along with his tagalong, Weasley. He scowled with his other self and, out of habit, he told them off as he had done all those years ago. In a fouler mood than when he had come in, he took a path away from the school with Karkaroff on his tail, twirling that ridiculous goatee around his finger as he did so.

"But he does not accept excuses so easily Severus! And to think of our behaviour…"

"Our behaviour?" His memory self was quite livid as he stared the headmaster of Drumstang down. His hand itched for its wand, twitching slightly in an urge to curse the daylights out of the man in front of him. Letting out a soft, aggravated huff, he turned to stalk away in another direction, headed towards the lake that was glossed over in ice. Severus followed, casting one last glance behind him. He never did like Igor that much and was glad he had met such an ill fate for not appearing in front of the Dark Lord.

He watched as his other self brooded while he stalked through the myriads of rose bushes set all over the grounds where the thick layers of snow had been melted away. This was another part of the night he remembered, but seldom thought about. He was going to watch the moon, wasn't he? A silly sort of sentimental thing to do, but he had done it. Thinking about it seriously now…he found it exceedingly out of character. He should really be despising the moon, but like with all the things he came face to face with nowadays…he felt that sense of longing for something…Stopping a moment, to look at the moon, he wondered what the White Lady meant to him.

Had she been a relative? A confidante? A friend…?

Or even…

His head shot up suddenly as his ears caught the snippets of an ill-hummed tune. The rhythm was off by a beat or two, the key was wrong and there were too many stops for breath, but he knew this tune. And he knew the voice that hummed it so worryingly _bad_. Hastening after himself he found his memory standing not too far away from the source of the hummed melody of the music box. At first, he didn't recognize her at all. For one she was covered in such a thick layer of dirt that he could've mistaken her for a corpse raised from the dead. Another point was that she was not dressed in that white dress he saw her in the first time he saw her. She wore paint covered overalls, scuffed boots, a thick coat and a hat with a wide brim that, annoyingly, shadowed over half her face from view. If not for her voice, he would have just passed her by as some new hand that Dumbledore had hired to help out with the grounds…

"Oh, honestly!" she said finally in exasperation. "Who in the world has been blasting my roses?" she inquired to herself, not realizing who was watching her just yet. He watched himself grimace slightly, fully knowing who the culprit was. Severus wondered idly what would happen should the White Lady ever become angered…

Probably not a pretty sight.

"And I spent so much time on them, too…not that anyone really appreciates flowers all that much…except maybe, Professor Sprout." Severus smiled wryly. It would seem that Tom the innkeeper had been quite right about a few things. She sighed and shook her head, going on about her business with the rose bushes until his memory coughed. She did not startle easily apparently, nor jumped a mile high. She just ceased all movement, halfway between lifting her arms up to check the top parts of the bush she had been examining and about to stand up from her crouch. She slowly turned around and gave him a smile. "Professor." she greeted to which his memory nodded back curtly in response. "What brings you out to the chill?" Severus snorted as his memory fidgeted for a little bit, more over why he was out than why he was out in the cold when the rose garden was enchanted to stay warm.

Oh, yes. Why was he out indeed? Besides trying to hide the fact that he and Karkaroff were former Death Eaters from the school masses? That their Dark Marks were telling the return of their master? What could he say to her? And his mind wandered all the more to other topics and questions such as: Did she know?

"I couldn't stand another minute with all of those insufferable little brats." his memory said in irritation that wasn't all truthful.

"You don't mean that." she told him gently, turning back to her roses. She tilted her head so that the shadow covered even more of her face. There was a silence that stretched out after that statement. Finally, the memory spoke.

"And what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" she asked, her tone full of mirth. His memory looked at her crossly, but she paid no mind.

"What I meant, _young lady_, is what are you doing outside when you could be…"

"Why professor, I never knew you cared so much about my social life." She chuckled softly much to his memory and his own chagrin. She just enjoyed laughing at him, didn't she? But he bore it and so did the memory…to a certain degree. He saw that he scowled once again before crossing his arms. She cleared her throat and schooled her features into an expression of seriousness before she looked at him. "I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have laughed." she apologized. Just as she had in a future memory. And just like that memory, she didn't particularly sound too sorry at all.

"Were you a student I would have deducted points from your house for your cheek." His memory said in…mock anger? What was that tone? He almost seemed very fond…Looking at his younger self, seeing him not so weary or guilt ridden. It almost looked as if…

Severus shook his head. There was no possibility of _that_! Maybe he just considered this person who held a common theme in his lost memories so far to be…sisterly. That was about that. That could explain a lot of things! But why in his heart…did it feel so wrong? He shook his head again and let himself listen to the conversation, which was becoming more and more personal than he'd like.

"But then it'd be your own house you'd be taking points away from, professor." she replied. She stood up slowly and brushed herself off to the best of her ability before turning to face his memory. In a rare moment of graciousness, he began to pull out his wand to cast a cleaning spell, but thought better of it as this was a memory and not real life. He took a moment to think about this out of character behaviour—as well as to what she insinuated—as his memory cleaned the girl up himself. "Thanks professor. I was wondering how I was going to be able to get inside the castle again without trailing dirt on the floor."

"Didn't you bring your wand?"

"Um…no?"

There was a pregnant silence. She cleared her throat and Severus' opinion of her dropped a point. What sort of foolish person went around without their wand! Especially during such a dangerous year! That year was the year Barty Crouch Jr. masqueraded as Mad-Eye Moody in order to whisk Potter away to help revive the Dark Lord! It was the same year where Crouch Sr. had been tortured and killed! The same year where all sorts of things lurked in the shadows…! And this woman…

"Didn't think I would need it really."

"And how is that?" his memory asked, obviously thinking the same views as he. It was quite a disapproving subject. He practically glowered.

"I knew you were coming out here, eventually." she told him, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her overalls. She grinned. "So, I felt safe enough with my Head of House being around to watch my back. And I think you had done quite a bit of it!" Once again, she chuckled softly and his memory self fumed to himself as he began muttering about women and how nutters they all were. "Don't think I don't know! So, tell me, what _is_ so interesting about my back, professor?" she inquired, continuing to laugh gently.

"I am so glad that my discomfort brings you such joy."

"Sorry, professor." She said sheepishly.

"Sorry, indeed." He looked up to the sky. "But you're avoiding the subject. I'm sure someone of your…_unique_ disposition would enjoy the glamour of upstaging everyone with your abilities to dress eccentrically and not bat an eye. I thought you would like the noise and chaos a ball like this can only create." She just smiled.

"Normally, I would. But I didn't want to go alone." she told him. She began to walk off towards the lake—the original destination before he met up with the White Lady—gesturing for him to follow. Going at a leisurely pace, they walked together, side by side in the moonlight…with Severus at the back…staring at her's.

"Oh? I'm sure there's some hapless nitwit foolish enough to dine and dance with you. And by the way…you missed dinner. Again. Poppy will be most cross with you." his memory stated, picking Severus' interest slightly. Missed dinner again? Odd thing since she looked so strong and healthy as she walked with a slight sway of her hips and a skip of her feet. "You only just got out of bed a few days ago."

"I'll nick something from the kitchens later." she replied. "And the only 'hapless nitwit' I would be willing to dine and dance with probably wouldn't answer my invitation, so I didn't bother with asking him. And if he did, he'd probably say no."

"Maybe you should have tried."

"Said the man who told the second years not to even bother with his classes anymore should they not fully understand the fundamentals of Advance Potions in a week."

"I was merely joking."

"Oh, yes. And what a _wonderful_ joke it had been. I had to drag up two Hufflepuffs to the Hospital Wing because you scared them into keeling over." She grinned and shook her head in amused dismay. "Truly, Severus! Keep joking like that and I think you'll have broken Madam Hooch's record for sending students into an early grave." Silence reigned between them again and it worried her for a while, from what Severus could see. If only she would just take that blasted hat off of her head. He just couldn't understand it. And what was more…

What was more…

How come it was so obvious to him, looking at things as they were and not to him then, as they were walking together in the moonlight? Severus could barely watch for humiliation and utmost embarrassment with his actions. He really could be dense.

"Professor…Is something the matter?"

The memory said nothing, his expression faraway and contemplating. So she had to call for him once again, her voice louder. "Professor!" He jumped slightly and looked down at her quizzically. "Is something wrong?" she asked again. He shook his head.

"It's nothing."

"Oh, really?" She sounded disbelieving. He chuckled just a bit.

"Nobody says my name, the way you do, Ms. Va—"

"Oh, gods! Don't call me that! It makes me sound like a 40 year old virgin." she interrupted, stopping Severus from hearing all of her last name. She blushed at what she said. "Ah…that is to say…" She immediately changed the subject. "Did you dance during the ball?" Both Severus and the memory gave her an incredulous look. Him? Dance at a ball? With all those people watching? Him! Dancing amongst a throng of annoying teenagers? Absolutely _not_! Besides…no sane woman would want to dance with him…She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "You didn't dance? At all?" She was very disappointed, he could tell.

"The need to socialize in such a manner is beneath me." She gave him a stern look. "That and I did not feel the need to be squashed amongst a large group of students that even the Great Hall couldn't hold, especially considering the size of Hagrid and Madame Maxime and the path they cut themselves."

"So, in other words…the girl you fancied wasn't there." she concluded out of nowhere.

"What!"

"Well, from my experience…most people don't dance because they're either too shy, can't dance or refuse to dance with anyone unless it happens to be the person they happen to fancy." The White Lady explained, her words quick and nearly strung together. "And considering I know you well enough to say that you're not shy you either cannot dance or your object of affection isn't there. I ruled out that you might not know how to dance, so therefore…"

"You and your logic." his memory said with a roll of his eyes. She grinned cheekily.

"So, who's the lucky girl?"

"I never said there was any."

"You never denied it either…so tell me!"

"My mistress…" he began, looking down at her, "…will always be Potions." he finished. The White Lady's merry expression seemed to wilt at this, her legs beginning to walk a little slower. Severus' heart panged briefly at the sight of her like this. His memory looked at her worriedly. "………? Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill? Perhaps you should go inside before you catch cold again." he suggested. They had reached the lakeshore where even the water had frozen over and was covered with a light sprinkling of snow from earlier in the day. She pointedly ignored him for a few moments before turning around to smile at him.

"Dance with me, Severus." she said, in a mock commanding sort of voice. His memory was taken aback. "What? Afraid to step on my toes? Don't worry. I'm not the moaning and whining type. And if it's any consolation, I might step on your toes as well." Severus' memory still looked at her, as if Stupefied. She let out a soft huff that came out as steam. They had strayed far away from the enchanted rose garden so the temperature was cold and chilly. "You didn't dance and you were worried I wasn't able to enjoy myself tonight. This resolves both of our needless worries." She held her hand out, fully expecting his memory to take it. "Dance with me before midnight strikes and I flee back from whence I came!"

This was ludicrous! And yet…

_Just right_, he thought to himself as he watched the memory play out before him. Severus Snape was no romantic fool by any stretch of the term, but he could concede to the fact that he could imagine a scene such as this if he tried hard enough. He honestly thought his memory self an idiot. He pondered as they went over their initial awkwardness and fumbling for some steps. There can be no denying her importance to him, as odd and strange as it seemed to him now. How…why did he forget this…? This was no fairytale that was to be sure. She was no princess and he wasn't exactly a prince…

But there was a full moon, now slowly being covered by misty clouds and snow was beginning to drift down from them. The stars twinkled gaily upon the couple who danced with nearly no experience and wariness of the other's closeness. But all seemed perfect…as if it were all just an enchantment…

"Midnight?" Severus asked himself as his eyes never left the waltzing couple, moving now to the soft singing of the White Lady. Compared to her disjointed humming she was considerably decent and the song seemed to fit. He knew the song somehow as well—even the name and the singer. A strange thing as it was a Muggle song and ever since his graduation he hoped against hope that he would never come across anything Muggle for the rest of his life. She sang—breathlessly as she was trying to concentrate on not stepping on his memory's feet— 'Once Upon A December'. He sighed. "If it is at midnight you'll disappear…then your name is Cinderella." He stated offhandedly. He closed his eyes as the memory faded into black.


	5. Unable To Think

A/N: Well, I'm sure I'm about to get mauled by SS fangirls everywhere…so I suppose it's time to run before the tomatoes hit! Wah! Damn tomatoes! I think I liked flames better! Mmm…fried tomatoes…I bet you all went WTF at the last chapter. Anyways…a short chapter for you lot! Halloween was exhausting! I think I was just bitten by writer's block.

He…could not sleep. Even after the most exhausting task of watching the memory of him and the White Lady talking and dancing in the moonlight he could not let himself fall into slumber. There was just too much to consider. What the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron had said was right…to a certain degree. He frowned at the thought of a Slytherin teaching Herbology. It was all well and good that a Slytherin could very well know every herb's, where it could be found, how to procure it and so on, but it was entirely another thing to be teaching it. There was no person he knew—or remembered in this case—that could possibly fit this description.

And then it brought up the question of her house. From what she had said—and Severus had analyzed the dialogue very well—he would have taken points off of his own house which meant that the girl was currently, or at one time, a Slytherin. That, in itself, was an absolute shock. Her personality displayed no obvious traits of the house of snakes. She was kind, gracious, gentle and sweet…

…Something was _definitely_ amiss.

If there was one thing he knew about Slytherins of all types…they were very good actors. Look at _him._ Fooled the entire Wizarding World he did!

If his White Lady were a Slytherin, then it opened up quite a lot of new doors for his investigation. If she was a Slytherin, there was a good chance that she came from a pure blood family, which narrowed down her identity to a handful of families. If she was a Slytherin, then she must have a penchant for Potions. It was a stereotypical view to take, but he honestly would better respect a woman with an ability that went beyond a kitchen and bathroom. And anyways, it explained her love of plants rather well…although it certainly didn't explain _his_ particular obsession with them. He knew not only the names of the many flora he used, but their meanings as well. Something at the back of his mind vehemently blamed the White Lady.

On the subject of placing the blame, that age old twinge of guilt ran through him for the first time in a while. He closed his eyes and listened to a stricken voice at the back of his mind that was so familiar and so far away at the same time, coupled with his own. No images came to him and he couldn't really recall what was going on exactly, but the subject of blame very much disturbed him. More so now that he thought about his other memories that he had yet to have received. All of his memories couldn't have possibly been good, can they? If so, how dull. But then again, maybe the dull, mundane and sugary sweet romance was probably the better option. At least he wouldn't have felt so guilty for doing a wrong he did not remember.

…The wrong he did not remember…

It was that lost memory that he associated with the music box. It was the reason he continued with its madness for he was slowly going mad with the suspense. Why couldn't he look upon her? It was something he wondered. His memory self must have gotten a good look at her, so why? Or was it just some sort of cruel, cosmic joke? Knowing his streak of luck it probably was. He could readily admit that his life was the pits. He wondered what Narcissa would think…

Narcissa.

He groaned. Another woman in his life that meant nothing, but trouble and yet he still held her in his affection. Of course, they were good friends now so his attention to the woman was rather borderline. He had quite the infatuation with her in his youth and it grew into fondness, as he got older. And he had been so ready to pursue, comfort and quite possibly love. A good portion of his rather divided devotion had been given to her and the boy of whom she had brought into the world.

He smiled.

Narcissa. The girl-who-was-much-too-popular-for-him.

Narcissa. Who was always so beautiful and perfect.

Narcissa. Who was a loving mother and wife.

Narcissa. She who encouraged him to be with someone else.

Narcissa. Someone he loved and wished he could have been with.

He still loved her despite everything, but he often thought about it. Would it have worked? She was older, someone of a different class from him and liked a life of comfort and safety. As she should be. In retrospect, marrying Lucius hadn't done so well for her, especially at the moment. Then again, being with him would have left her in an even worse situation. One thing for being a Death Eater, another for being a spy and the killer of…

"You know…" whispered a gentle voice at the back of his head. "…I never thought badly of you…I may have become upset with you sometimes, Severus, but I know you're a good man…" 

Was he a good man? What was so good about him? There was nothing that he could possibly think of that wasn't a flaw. There was no merit to him. He knew that he had been too serious as a child due to his unhappy home life where he had to do some fast growing up in order to survive it. And he was surly, horribly jealous at times, callous, conniving, anti-social and the list went on. Not to mention that he wasn't the best looking of men. He looked like a starved nosferatu to be blunt which brought him back to a point he often thought about. What sane woman would fall for him?

He opened his eyes and looked at the music box on the bedside table.

Well, at least he'll have something pleasant to look forward to when he woke up. Maybe the next memory will be of him and her having a _lovely_ little picnic on the beach in the middle of the day with the sun shining merrily in the sky…

He _really_ should stop making such stupid assumptions for he never could have suspected what he was going to be shown next. So he slept unknowingly and restlessly until the dawn called upon him to awaken once more.


	6. Unable To Understand

A/N: Yes, I do know that the last chapter sucked. But I am making up for it in this chapter! Lots of writing. And researching. My room has Harry Potter character info scattered all over the floor…and bed…and desk…

It was a peaceful morning. The sun was shining and the air was rather warm. It was uncharacteristic for an almost winter day, but Severus could really care less about the weather. In fact, the first thing that came to mind was not the merry sun or the rather cheerful atmosphere outside. The first thing on his mind was what he could find in the music box next. He had to admit, even when he slept he saw her there and always on the edge of discovering whom she was. And when he woke up he almost expected her there. Not in his bed, mind you, but he since the beginning of those memories he felt she should be around…

_I'm going insane_, he thought to himself. _That's the only explanation for it._

He pushed off the covers and sat up. He reached over to the music box and wound it up a few times before opening it up to let its melody play. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair to start his daily routine, pondering again over the facts. He supposed that his feeling of expectation was justifiable if she had been a Slytherin. He would see her more than the rest of the school, as he preferred keeping to himself or his House. He recalled the last six or so years to his mind for the umpteenth time as he washed and brushed. Now that he was beginning to 'remember', certain events came back to his mind on their own time. Just bits and pieces really. Nothing too coherent. Just things he never knew had happened before…

Clean, he returned to make his bed and eat a muffin from a basket that was waiting for him on a table in the middle of the room. He chewed on it thoughtfully as a memory recalled itself on its own.

"_You remind me of blood, death and…muffins._" said the White Lady, sounding amused with herself.

"_Muffins?_" his memory self answered.

And then she smiled in his mind's eye. "_Muffins._"

He sighed. There went his appetite. He threw the remains of his poppy seed muffin into the wastebasket. Giving another longsuffering sigh while muttering about mad women and their strange habits. He looked into the music box and found a strange surprise. There were three vials in all. They were labelled: 'December 25, 1995', 'January 1, 1996', and 'January 9, 1996'. He raised an eyebrow at the final date. Now why would that particular day be so important? Lets see now…for Christmas, he spent it quietly in his office correcting papers. New Years he still stayed in his office, correcting papers, although he distinctly remembered being in a very foul mood about something. No doubt about being asked to teach Potter Occlumency or about his essay. It had been rather dreadful. And as for January ninth…

That was the very same day he had gone to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to tell the foolish boy what was to be happening in his near future. Suffice to say that neither he nor the boy had been too happy with the arrangements. And—much to his amusement at the time—neither did the brat's godfather, Sirius Black. In fact, they would have started to duel had the Weasleys not come in with news of Arthur Weasley's clean bill of health. It was probably a good thing. Otherwise he would have gotten her upset with—

He blinked.

'He would have gotten her upset with'…?

He covered his face with a hand. "…I can already see where this is going." He muttered to himself. Indeed. He was dreading what he was going to see. There were three memories in a row, covered by the White Lady's favourite flower. His heart suddenly panged and he frowned heavily at the little plant. He tried remembering if he had ever seen her holding a bouquet of this flower, but no specific image came to mind. But a voice said to him:

"_I refuse to be just a memory…but if I do…please try not to forget…_"

But he had forgotten and he had no idea how. He shook his head. Enough of this sentimental foolishness. It was time to view the next memory. He opened the first vial and poured its contents into his waiting pensieve.

------------

He was standing at his desk in the classroom. The time was a little bit past four thirty in the aternoon. And there was a message left for him in clearly written and slightly slanting to the right chalk characters on the blackboard. He and his memory self read the words carefully, staring incredulously at the syntax genocide that was the White Lady's message to him. It read thus:

_**Gon 2 S1r1us' pls. C U dere.**_

_**S.P.V.**_

He twitched. He really hated writing like this, he realized. The name for such a horrendous mockery of the English language came to mind and he felt like retching. It was called 'leet' or something or other and he vaguely remembered being told what it was, how it was and why it was in the first place. But it was very clear…he _hated_ it. Oddly enough, he remembered quite a few Hufflepuffs writing a few of their Potions essays in this despicable language. _If_ it could be called a language of course. It wasn't even fit to be a dialect.

Looking over to his other self he watched as he seethed for a few moments then took an eraser to the words and rubbed them out as if his life depended upon it. He was glad to know that whatever his taste in women, his other self still had proper integrity where correct grammar and spelling was concerned. "Bloody hell. She knows how much I _hate_ it when someone writes like that." He heard himself say before heading out of the room. Severus noted the irritability before moving on, avoiding a slightly ajar desk drawer while following the memory as it played. Corridors appeared as blurs and he barely caught the season greetings sent his way by the few who chose to stay in Hogwarts during the holidays.

As he recalled Black had many stay with him during the holidays, much to his relief. He had a very peaceful and quiet Christmas thanks to the mutt. If a little lonesome…

Students were no longer accosting them as he was in the secrecy of his private chambers and he felt the longing of being in such a place again. It had not been much, but it had been his to make during those many years spent as a teacher. It was a freedom that was his…but it had been very bare--or at least…bare for a Hogwarts room. Banners, paintings, furniture, statues and all sorts littered the hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in here Severus often kept his personal affects to a minimum. He did not keep portraits of anyone, considering that he had no particular tendency towards any ally that would warrant them a place on his wall and he certainly didn't want to keep any of his family. And he knew he wasn't a five time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award like a _certain_ nameless _blond_ dolt, so he never bothered with any portraits of himself.

There were no windows—not even enchanted ones—so he had no reason to be hanging drapes anywhere. He had a few banners dedicated to his house and then he colour coded the rest from there. His living room had a settee and two large chairs arranged around a coffee table next to the unlit fireplace. The carpet was well enough. Green, soft and kept very clean, except for a coffee stain in the far right corner of the room. He wondered if he could blame that little mishap on the White Lady, but if memory served him correctly it had been his fault. There were bookshelves for his private collection lining a few walls, a cupboard to keep supplies that his private stores couldn't keep in his office. This was where he had lived for so many years.

And almost inconspicuously amongst a few other boxes of nearly the same size and make sat the music box on the mantel of the fireplace.

He stared at it. Then he glared and his earlier anger at being led about like some dog on a leash on a wild goose chase resurfaced. He did an about face and finally followed his memory as he went through the wardrobe in his bedchamber. Many boxes were pulled out. One after another they were taken from their usual place within the wardrobe and deposited haphazardly on the floor before the memory found what he wanted to be found. And it had been…

His eyes widened. No! It couldn't be what he thought it was. But he couldn't help, but think it so as his other self dusted off a small, tiny little box barely the size of a large walnut. A button was pressed and the lid popped open. Sitting in a velvet cushion was simple gold band, polished and unblemished in any way. But there was no denying its age. The yellow of the gold was almost giving way to white. Severus pursed his lips.

He was told that his father once presented this ring to his mother when they were young, back when all they had needed was each other. They had been very young when they married and still very young when they had him. As a traumatized lad of fifteen, he once made a vow never to marry anyone. Not even his school crush, who consequently had already married herself off to one of the rich boys at school right after graduation.

Still, he never dared to look upon it, though he kept it among his things at all times after he received his inheritance from his deceased parents. He felt a chill of dread spread through his whole being as the enormity of the situation between his lost memories of the White Lady and himself hit him. His throat went dry as his eyes fell to the floor.

Oh, good God!

What was he thinking? The woman was a mere child compared to him! Still a student yet. Though a fellow Slytherin, alone and charming in her own strange way…

Sweet Merlin, something _had_ to be wrong! Severus Snape did not propose to someone he barely knew! And from the dates on the labels he had seen, he barely knew her at all! Everything looked so rushed! Everything _was_ rushed. He must have not been in his right mind. That was it. Or possibly, he had swallowed Amortentia and hadn't known it. Yes, his behaviour did seem a little obsessive…

…But who was he kidding?

It wasn't exactly a strong emotion that he felt pulling at him as he gazed at the ring in the other's hands. He was sure it couldn't move mountains or lasso the moon, but it was there, pulsing within him, good and true, no matter how uncomfortable or silly it felt. His feelings, wherever they had suddenly sprung were sincere. He closed his eyes and let the images fall into place in his mind's eye before opening them again. And he sighed, his breath coming out tranquilly instead of its usual long-suffering way.

It had been right for him to give her the ring.

But as he knew, deep within himself…there was going to be lots of trial and tribulation before he would be able to see that ring on her finger.

He stared after himself, standing alone for a few moments and he recomposed himself for what was to come and what he had just came to realize. He spied the music box on the mantel, sitting quietly and innocently not knowing what it would soon be used for in the years to come. He wondered where it had come from still. Maybe, he'll know in a little while. The world around him changed and he found himself standing near the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

He slipped inside and proceeded in his memory's fashion. Disquieting noises could be heard from the upstairs floor and he wondered what was going on that could be making all the racket. Considering that it was Christmas Day and the children staying in the house would have opened their presents the moment they woke-up that morning, they were probably the ones making all the noise. His memory made sure no one saw as he stalked his way towards the stairs, but Molly Weasley managed to catch him just as he stepped foot on it and beckoned him into the kitchen.

"Come to visit the darling dear, Professor?" the woman asked merrily while she checked on the turkey in the oven.

"Darling dear?" Severus inquired aloud simultaneously with his memory. If there was one thing he knew he would never do in any sort of reality it was to call someone such a sugary sweet name. Molly huffed at this as her hands found her hips.

"That sick girl you brought in from Hogwarts!" she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You haven't come here once since she came here a week ago, pale and sick and unable to stand or speak! We all thought the worst while you were away. And it was a good thing you did bring her in. Goodness only knew how you were keeping her down there—"

"I was not keeping her anywhere." The memory interjected, obviously annoyed with his current situation. "If she were to stay anywhere she did it out of her own free will."

"Well, she's much better now." Molly said curtly, turning to her cooking. She bustled about as she talked. There were rather thunderous footsteps and yelling as the children ran about from upstairs to downstairs. She tutted the recklessness of youth as she checked the gravy simmering away on the stovetop. "And she asked about you." She added, giving Severus' memory a pointed look. "The sweet thing always manages to squeeze in a question about you one way or another and none of us knew how to answer her. It was a good thing Sirius was about. They did well for each other." At the mention of Sirius Black, hate welled up within his being. He stared at the floor.

"Ah, yes. Black. Well, one would suppose he would be starving for any sort of contact now that he's no longer incarcerated." His other self stated, not sounding regretful that he was using such harsh words. Severus agreed. A man locked up in solitude with nothing, but Dementors and his memories to keep him company would want some sort of contact after all those years. And if he had done anything…

"Well, he took good care of A—Miss Valentine." Molly told him, fixing a slip she had near the end.

"You could say her proper name, you know."

"Ah, well…I can't really say her name without thinking about the Longbottoms..."

Silence.

"My assistant may be prone to ailing constantly, but she has always managed herself well." Severus' other self stated carefully, his hands clenching tightly at his sides. "And as her head of house I will not let that sort of harm come her way if I had any say about it." The older woman nodded and sniffled slightly as she opened the oven. The scent of a well-made turkey filled the air as she took it out and let it cool down a bit on a countertop.

"Well, it's almost suppertime." She announced. She smiled at him warmly. "I'm sure she'll be wanting to see you now that she's not wrestling with the children about books and such." At the raised eyebrow she received, she waved him off dismissively in a shooing motion. "Go on now. And mind the mistletoe." She added as an afterthought. And she shut the kitchen door in their faces once they were out.

Well, that conversation had been enlightening.

The memory moved once again, towards the lit living room where the Weasley's brood, Potter, Granger and various others congregated to talk and joke around. Black was in there, barking with laughter at whatever poor excuse of a joke had been said by one of the Weasley twins. And to the right, next to a small Christmas tree stood the young Miss Valentine, dressed warmly for the holidays, looking slightly mussed with a few pieces of straw sticking out of her hair as if she had been rolling around in a haystack all day and rather thin. He frowned. In fact, a little _too_ thin for his liking. She looked like she had been starved for a while and had only started eating recently. The memory hovered near the door, watching through the crack all of the happenings of the room with the ease that came with being a very good spy.

The White Lady—who was wearing _clean_ white clothing this time round—turned away from the tree to take a seat as Black stood up at the same time to leave the room which ended up with the both of them bumping into one another. He caught her before she fell onto the ground, having already steadied himself.

"Oh, look. Mistletoe." Ginevra Weasley remarked from her seat next to Granger as she pointed to the little plant hanging by a string from the ceiling.

"I think he deserves a kiss for his heroics, don't you professor?" Granger asked coyly, her eyes twinkling in an annoyingly familiar fashion. Ronald gave her a funny look.

"He only kept her from fall—Ow! 'Mione!" the boy whined after he was smacked upside the head by the little know-it-all. Black grinned.

"Well, what do you say?" he asked of the girl in his arms who let her gaze rest on the floor while her face took on a tomato cherry red flush that would have made any Weasley proud. He laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Well, can't break with tradition now, can we?" He looked about for anyone who objected, his grey eyes lingering longest at the door where Severus and his memory watched the events taking place.

"Sirius?" she called to him, looking up at him now. He suddenly had a very bewildered look on his face that nobody missed as he looked down at the young woman in his arms. "Siri!" she said again. He blinked.

"You know…" Severus was dreading what he was about to say next. "…I don't think anyone's ever said my name the way you do."

He had always hated Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, for many reasons. He never hated it more than he did at that instant as his memory began to back away from the door while he spied Black—that loathsome flea bitten mangy mutt ex-Azkaban inmate—leaning down to press his lips against hers in a light kiss. He hated it as the image of someone he hated so much was so near and intimate with someone he sought after…

_As it always was_,he thought grimly. But it didn't hurt any less. If he could deny it before, he couldn't deny it now. He knew how he felt and seeing this reassured it. And it began to incite his anger. And the memory faded to darkness. And when it did, he immediately began to tear through the next one.

January 1, 1996.

------------

"**GET OUT OF MY SIGHT YOU STUPID LITTLE GIRL!**"

Severus had to fight from jumping at the sound of his own voice, spitting venom as it was raised to high enough volumes to wake up the dead. Although he should have expected it the moment he poured the next memory into the pensieve. It was barely less than two weeks since the Christmas incident and for him, who was seeing it all again almost as if for the first time, it was still fresh in his mind. Fresh in both of their minds.

"**I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE UNTIL YOU BUGGERING TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!**" she shouted back at his memory, her voice reaching levels his could possibly never attain. He rubbed his ears. They were still ringing. The scene before him was that of his classroom, next to his desk where a cauldron had been tipped over, its contents still bubbling away on the stone floor. The atmosphere was very tense. His memory had his wand out; the White Lady's was nowhere in sight. They were having a fight and he had a very clear idea about what exactly they were shouting about.

"**WHATEVER IT IS, _MS._ VALENTINE IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!**"

"**IT IS! ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME! YOU'VE BEEN LIKE THIS SINCE I CAME BACK FROM—FROM—WELL, _YOU_ PERFECTLY KNOW WHERE!**"

And all went deathly silent. He watched in slight awe of himself as the memory slowly drew himself up and loomed over the girl, using a glare he usually reserved for the most loathsome of creatures on Earth. And she looked defiantly back, but Severus could see her clench a hand and that it shook.

"Oh, yes…I knew perfectly where…" the memory said, his voice barely a whisper. A dangerous hiss in the air. Severus knew this tone well enough. Like the memory before, there was going to be no good coming from this one. It was almost the same as watching his parents fight all those years ago as a child. "…and I know perfectly what you had done. Tell me…what's it like to have two men wrapped around your little finger…?" She looked perplexed at this, as if she didn't know what he meant.

"What in Morgan's name are you talking about?" she asked him, her brows knit together. And then it seemed to have hit her as she gave his memory an incredulous look. Her jaw dropped open. "Sirius? You wouldn't speak to me because of Sirius-bloody-Black?" When there came no answer she continued on. "That's it, isn't it? You're jealous. You're bloody jealous."

"I am _not_ jealous—nor will I _ever_ be—of that _mangy_ _mutt_." The memory spat. "And consequently, what do I have to be jealous _about_?" This struck her. She took a step back. It was a low blow, even for him. But it hadn't dawned on his memory exactly what he had done just yet. Or maybe he had done it deliberately. Looking on this now, he hoped he hadn't. "What? Are you going to start crying? Tears will get you nowhere." he said. She flinched and turned away. And Severus saw it. Not her face—though he was entirely used to not seeing it by now as it was often hidden by something in these memories. He saw the tears she tried so desperately to hide. He saw her pursing her lips, biting them to try and gain some control. But the tears fell, but unnoticed by the memory.

"Sirius was right about you." She stated quietly. "I always argued with him about it. He always said you were just a heartless git. And he was right all along…"

"Oh, yes, of course. Black's always right, isn't he? Why don't you run along already or do something _useful_." She gasped softly. She turned around look at him, to try and say something, but words failed her. "And close your mouth. You look like a fish." She clenched it shut and more tears fell. And through those tears her expression hardened as she took a breath. Severus steeled himself for a verbal blow.

"**I HATE YOU! YOU STUPID, GREASY, HEARTLESS SON OF A BI—**"

Smack!

"Don't you ever speak to me in such a way ever again. Is that clear?" the memory's silky voice told her in that dangerously quiet tone. "Now, as I said before…Get. Out."

Severus looked down to the White Lady sitting on the floor with a hand to the cheek where she had been slapped, the ruin potion on the floor beginning to soak her trousers. She took her hand away a moment and Severus winced at how red it was. He had hit her! In a shocking move he had hit her. Unsteadily, she got up.

"Severus Snape…I really wonder what I ever saw in you." She said in a voice that feigned a calmness she did not have. She took a shaky breath. "I wish I had never met you." With that she bolted for the door and the corridors beyond. There were the sounds of her bumping into someone and the mutters of an apology before her footsteps took over again.

"Professor Valentine! You dropped something!" called a Slytherin student whose voice he remembered quite clearly. In fact…

"Professor Snape! What's wrong with Professor Valentine?" Draco Malfoy asked as he walked into the classroom, finding it in disarray. He looked around in bewilderment. "Did you two…have a row?" he asked, sounding rather incredulous. The fact that Draco found himself having a row with any female amused Severus to no end, though it didn't help his current mood much. He looked to the door wistfully, wondering if his memory self ran after her like some lovesick fool, begging her forgiveness. But he knew that he would not go. He would stay in the room and chat with his godson. He would be too cowardly to face her.

Just as he had been too cowardly to face Lily Evans back in school after he insulted her in front of everyone, even if he sincerely wanted to be friends with her.

Just like when he couldn't bring himself to tell Narcissa of his feelings for her before it became too late.

That was just him, wasn't it…?

What did she ever see in you… 

------------

Severus couldn't bring himself to see the last memory. The last two had been much too depressing for his liking. And, for all he knew, trouble came in threes. So therefore, he did not touch the memory of January 9, 1996. It was probably a very depressing memory of him spending a birthday alone, without the White Lady. It was all well and good. He had some things he needed to do. It started snowing the day after he view the two memories together and had put the music box away where he couldn't see it. He had potions to be brewing now that he was assigned a task. It kept him busy and from wondering what might happened next in the drama that was the missing portions of his life.

The first day, he readied his ingredients, set up a lab for himself to do his work. He read through books, busied his hands with chopping and dicing roots, leaves and various things not worth mentioning just because they were rather disgusting. He hesitated when he found the asphodel, but soon began slicing into them furiously before throwing measured cups into a heating cauldron.

The second day, he kept track of his simmering potions, while reading up on the latest journals on potion making. He made conversation to anyone who came by for as long as he could manage. A cauldron blew up, which caused him quite a bit of disturbance as it rarely ever happened with him. He spent a good while cleaning up.

The third day, he still stalked about the room, keeping an eye on all of the cauldrons to make sure none of them would endure a mishap like the day before. He racked his mind for any sort of explanation for the explosion since making a mistake was highly improbable. Time went slowly this day and he sound found his mind wandering when it shouldn't. He employed some slacking tactics he hadn't used in decades to pass the time. Another cauldron blew up.

His daily routine of keeping an eye on the boiling potions, avoiding the situation, slacking off and then cleaning up the mess of a potion gone bad went on for a few more days until he just had to start all over again in which he kept an even sharper eye out for mishaps. Nearing the eighth day, he considered himself half past mad and then some. He was trying to avoid the matter. He started it and he had to finish. He had to move on. But whenever her tried to go back, he couldn't.

He didn't want to brave whatever else was left to that chain of memories. But he knew he had to sooner or later. There was no putting off the inevitable.


	7. Unable To Forgive

A/N: Emo-I-ness, now with an extra dosage of emo goodness. Mm-mm, emo.

**I'd like to give a shout out to anyone and everyone who have gone and still are going to Dawson. I love you guys!**

He had put it off for another day. And another. And then another. His cauldrons still found it fit to be exploding all over the place whenever his attention began to wane. In a raging fit that could have bowled Voldemort over, he shouted at his rebellious cauldrons that he would finally view the last memory. Somehow, they appeared smug. He kicked one for good measure before heading to his private chambers.

The doors slammed open, a testament to his impatience with the matter. He strode over to the mantel where he had kept it for the last few weeks, purpose with every step. And when he reached out, he faltered again. And while he let his hand draw itself away from the little wooden box, he heard Potter's words echo in his head. Coward! And that was exactly what he was. But instead of incensing him as it had before at the school, it made him shrink away even more. And what was worse…it made him wonder of the most horrible of things. And to add insult to injury, that old intense sense of guilt returned to him once again worsen his worrying thoughts.

Bloody emotions.

He gave a sigh and slumped into a nearby chair, covering his face with his hands. He was just so tired of this. The guilt given by a face forgotten, the hate inspired by an enemy remembered and the longing…getting lost in his emotions. The very same emotions he always had such a great rein upon. And yet…

Another sigh escaped his lips. It would seem that he was doing a lot of it.

Resignedly, he stood up and brushed his clothes off with a hand. He held his head as high as possible and approached the mantel once again. With a steady hand he flicked the lid open and took out the final memory, then shut it closed before the third note escaped the music box. He stared at the vial. It had something new; there was a slip of paper attached to the cork on a piece of string. In carefully written script, it simply read: "Yes." Now, this sparked his curiosity. What did 'yes' mean? Did she forgive him? Did she agree to become Black's consort—loathe as he was to even think it? Or did yes mean…

He had put it off long enough. Time to see for himself.

------------

Dear Merlin. His laboratory looked as if someone had let the Hogwarts Train run straight through it. In fact, it looked almost as bad—or possibly worse than—the current laboratory he had been toiling away in a small time ago. It had only been a mere eight days since the incident. He himself remembered the place vaguely at the back of his mind as being utterly dreadful that time of year, but he surmised that he shouldn't be trusting his memory at the moment.

His other self was looking worse for the wear himself. His robes had been tossed aside, as well as his jacket and waistcoat. His shirt was dirtied and stained, as well as very rumpled. His hair was in a state that even he couldn't figure out a word for. He shook his head. He simply looked terrible.

A knock came from the door and he called them in. Severus remained stunned for a moment as Albus Dumbledore himself came through the door. Not that he was the type to be struck dumb so easily, but in the real world he had only come to terms with the man's death a while ago. Not even close, actually. The idea of the man gone was too much to accept, especially since he was gone to the world by his hand. It was a shock to see him again, so vivid and alive, in this past memory.

"Good morning, Severus. Is everything alright?" the old man asked gently, looking him directly in the eye. His other self knew as much as he that Albus Dumbledore was an experienced Legilimens, so he just sighed and told him everything (excluding what he saw at the Black House) that had transpired, including the fight he had with the White Lady…Miss Valentine.

_And 'A' and 'L'_, he thought to himself, remembering the two clues he received from the music box and Mrs. Weasley respectively. _If Molly wouldn't say her name, then does it mean…?_

"I thought as much." Albus stated. "I received a rather angry letter—several in fact—just the other day. It was concerning your rather poor treatment of young Professor Valentine as of late."

"I was only returning the favour."

"Do you really believe that, Severus?"

Silence.

"She's become ill again. Molly Weasley thought it would be prudent for someone to see her…It might be the thing to help speed up her recovery." Albus told him gently, patiently. He stroked his beard lightly as he surveyed the room quickly. Upturned cauldrons, pools of goodness knew what on the floors. Stains, broken glass, scorch marks and so on. He tutted the wreck quietly, before turning back to the younger man. "I'm sure that she wishes for your forgiveness as well." He added.

"Forgiveness, Albus?" his memory spat. "What is there to forgive? She meant nothing to me! She was an insufferable brat who was always underfoot." The old man looked on him kindly.

"You don't mean that."

Silence again.

The memory sighed. "…That's exactly what she would say." He sounded defeated, as if just coming to a horrible realization. Fate most likely had a much worse one in store for the both of them. He quickly shook his head, slamming his hand onto a table. "Albus! Don't try to change my mind! She was disrespectful to me. You cannot expect me to work with someone—" A hand was brought up to stop him in mid tirade.

"Severus. Think. For the last…three—_four_ years, she has remained steadfast, loyal and understanding. And during those four years she never responded unkindly unless given a particular incentive to do so." The older man gave him a stern look, all frivolity out of his actions and voice. The kind, old grandfather act was out. Severus fought from cringing. Although it was just a memory, Albus Dumbledore was still not one to be trifled with. He swallowed nervously and so did his memory self. "She has fought for your honour and is not able to make many friends or allies because she associates with you."

"Fought for my honour? You make it sound—"

He was interrupted once again. "I am not trying to make you pity her, far from it. Pity would get the both of you nowhere and she'd wholeheartedly agree if she were fit enough to come back to Hogwarts and say so herself." Albus gave the memory a rather pointed and disapproving look. "It is our choices, Severus, that show what we truly are. She chose to believe in you, no matter the cost to herself. Now…you may choose to run away from this problem and make everything much worse than it already is…or…"

"Or…?"

"Or you may choose to confront the problem and apologize."

"But Albus!" his memory said, beginning to pace the room as his hands fidgeted. Now that the headmaster had finished it was his turn to give his tirade, finally. "You say she is true; you say she's

loyal. But she shows none of it. She's the conniving epitome of lies." He stopped and turned to look at Albus with a very grieved expression. "The little snake would rather be prancing around with Black, rather than be with me."

"If you're referring to the time where Sirius caught Professor Valentine under the mistletoe, you had been quite mislead." Severus blinked.

What? How did he—?

"It would seem that a prank had been played on Mister Black." Albus explained, once he saw the rather dumbstruck and confused look on the potions professor's face. He sighed and shook his head. "Mischievous youths, really, those twins, Fred and George." A dark shadow fell over Severus' features at this new information, as well as shame mirrored by his memory.

The Weasley Twins.

Why was he not surprised _at all_?

"What happened, Albus?" the memory demanded.

"Simply, the boys had been working on some enchanted dolls that were made to look and act like a real person, meant for slacking purposes of course. And they needed a test subject." Albus explained, pausing a moment to let the memory have all this new information sink in. "Earlier in the day, Professor Valentine sprung a trap made by the Weasley Twins meant for their youngest brother, which resulted in the poor woman catching cold and was confined in her room until further notice. In a letter written by their own hands, it was said that they used this as an opportunity to test their latest…product. Needless to say…some grief was made. In a letter written by Molly, she said that the dear sickly young lady had gotten over her cold and was in the kitchen drinking tea during all the happenings in the living-room."

The old man stopped there, letting the information sink in once again. Severus could not believe what he just heard. At all. He swelled up along with his hopes, but soon was deflated. He had been angry when he shouldn't have. He was mature enough to admit that he had probably started the entire argument. He did have a habit of verbally attacking those he did not particularly like, instigating fights where there needn't be. His hands covered his face as he let out a small groan of frustration. His past self really was moronic. Leave it to him to not see the little details while concentrating on the big picture.

And he had hurt her. Not just verbally. He had hit her—something he had often promised he would never do to anyone and he did it anyways, leaving behind an angry red mark upon her face.

"Molly threw every single one of the dolls out once she got wind of them and instructed the boys never to construct any more. With discretion being the better part of valour…the entire household knew what had gone on and I found myself in a swarm of owls with letters asking me to have a word with you or trying to explain a situation I found most intriguingly silly." Albus chuckle at this, his mirth returning to him. Severus just gave him a disdainful look. Same old Albus…

"Now…about Harry's Occlumency lessons…I was hoping that you could go and speak with the boy about it today…alone, mind you." The old man gave the memory a look, but soon continued on. "The start of term begins on Monday as you well know, with students returning tomorrow Sunday night. Have you decided on the times yet, Severus?"

"I have…" the memory answered, sounding rather subdued. He looked very distracted, his mind still on what he had just been told. Severus could hardly believe it himself. Then again, he could hardly believe that he was laying eyes on Dumbledore once again—even if he was just a memory now. Just like the White Lady…whose one wish out of others was to be more than just a memory…and yet…that was what all she was now…And what was worse? He had forgotten. Every detail of her until months ago when he viewed the first memory of the music box…he had forgotten her as if she had never existed.

"…Good, Severus. I hope that you manage to patch the rift between yourself and Professor Valentine." Albus said about to leave the room. He stopped for a moment, as if just remembering something. "Oh, yes. And happy birthday Severus. Time to tell Dolores that we won't be needing her services in the near future…"

Happy birthday indeed.

What a lovely present to receive…to be told that he had unjustly accused someone. Most of the time he wouldn't have cared if he had done so, but circumstance made for shame colouring his face. But then, his face darkened as he thought about Dolores Umbridge, the vilest and annoying of women he had ever come across. Now with the White Lady added into the picture, some things made sense. He had found it quite odd that the headmaster couldn't have found somebody to take the position of dark arts master…

His expression darkened further as he suddenly recalled little snippets of the woman offering tea to an unsuspecting Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher on her first day…

Note to self: Should I ever come across Umbridge, kill her—or at least maim her beyond recognition…Too bad the centaurs got to her before I could…

Severus thought about several other nasty things he could do to Umbridge as the entire scene changed and he found himself once again in the home of the 'noble and most ancient house of Black'. His disdain and overall dislike of the place came back to him tenfold, now that he had the memory of Black trying to kiss someone who wouldn't have him. It had been rather thick of him to think that the White Lady would be so demure about such things. He could already imagine in his mind's eye the fit she would have had if she had been cornered in such a situation.

He walked along for a moment and lo! There was his object of abject loathing. The memories stared each other down, contempt written all over their faces. They barely nodded to one another civilly.

"Snape." Black snarled.

"Black." Severus' memory greeted back curtly.

"So…not enough you've got her sick again…come to gloat about it in her face. That was a nasty mark you left on her cheek, Snape. You know…I think she'd very much like it if I returned the favor." The ex-inmate said, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

"Oh, yes, Black. I'm very sure she'd like that." The memory drawled out. "Violence on her behalf. I never knew you were so _chauvinistic_. That'll make her _ecstatic_. Just put your fists down and tell me where that god awful godson of yours is."

"And why would you need to see him?"

"I'm here on Dumbledore's orders."

"Oh, really?" The man said as he laughed barkingly, but there was no mirth as he said these two words. "Not on your nearly deposed, snake of a master's? Well, if you need to see him you'll just have to go through me. And considering what's happened to Allie, I don't think I should leave you in room alone with Harry."

"Mind what you say, Black, or you'll be finding yourself on the wrong side of my wand."

"Considering if you can even find the right side, Snape."

"Do you make up your own insults or do you get them supplied to you via owl?"

"Oh, put a cork in it, you dirty old codg—"

"BOYS!"

Both men whirled around to see a cross looking Molly Weasley, frilly apron over her clothes, hands on her hips and a skillet in hand with a glare that could send Voldemort running back to his mother. She frowned at them heavily as she strode over to them from the kitchen.

"Honestly. With the way you going at each other you wouldn't have been able to notice a stampeding horde of Inferi."

"Inferi don't stampede…they kinda limp and try to gnaw off their own ears." Sirius said, helpfully.

"Very nice Black." The memory added sarcastically.

"Oh, you both know very well what I meant!" the woman said impatiently. She let her gaze rest on Black, who stepped back a bit. He couldn't help, but smirk a little. "And shouldn't you be delivering a letter?" she asked.

Black winced a bit, but then frowned. "I suppose I do." He answered reluctantly. He shuffled through his trouser pockets until he found an envelope addressed to no one, other than Severus himself. He took a closer look and recognized the handwriting as the White Lady's. The ex-inmate tossed it over to his memory. "There you go." With that business done they went back to the topic at hand.

"Now, what is going on?" the woman asked, pointing her skillet threateningly at them both.

"I need to speak with Potter. It involves his schooling." The memory replied as he looked over the seemingly innocent envelope. Molly nodded. "It's urgent. Do you know where he is?" he inquired.

"Probably playing chess with Ron." The woman answered. "Well, then…take a seat in the kitchen. I'll be right back with Harry. And please try to get along." She gave them both knowing glances, the kind only a mother of seven could only give, especially when she was upset or disappointed. Huffing she left for the upstairs floor where the boys were sharing a room and playing around while the girls (them being Hermione and Ginny) and Crookshanks kept watch. When she was out of sight, they turned on each other and glared.

"After you, _Snape_." Black said with a very forced tone, making a flourished bow as he gestured towards the kitchen.

"Only after _you_, Black." The memory said back. They both turned and made it to the kitchen with very little event, but the air of mutual dislike seemed to stretch and grow with every passing minute. He took a seat at one end of the rather long kitchen table while Black sat opposite him, still glaring daggers. "Enjoying yourself, Black?" he asked as he began to open the envelope.

"Only as much as you are." Was the reply. "Now tell me…what do you want with Harry?"

"Harry will be having Occlumency lessons from here on out." The letter was pulled out gently, though Severus could see his hands shake just slightly. He himself remembered the letter being a letter from Dumbledore that he had meant to give to Potter to formally announce his Occlumency lessons, but since Black had truly been the one to deliver it and it had the White Lady's handwriting, the contents of the letter were sure to be different.

"Occlumency?" Black inquired, sounding curious and worried. "Dumbledore's having him study it? Is it because of his…"

"Why else would the headmaster be wasting good school resources? Although, in my person opinion, the boy wouldn't be able to grasp such an advance magic..."

"Dark magic." The other man mumbled under his breath.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you past your five o'clock shadow." The memory said offhandedly as he began to read the letter. Silence followed as his brow furrowed and his frown deepened with every word. He then gently tossed the letter carelessly onto the table, letting it slid for a bit before stopping in the middle of the table. Black glared and so did Severus' memory. A new sound soon caught their attention as they childishly glared at each other.

"Er." It was the boy, Potter. The memory told him to sit down, hurrying everything so they could get their talk over with and so he could go back to his own business. Black began to play the cool man as he leaned back and tried to subtly say that he had no business telling people in his house what to do at all. "I was supposed to see you alone, Potter, but Black—"

Severus began to tune out the conversation taking place for the moment, knowing how it was all going to end. He moved to where the letter still laid open for all to see and began to read its contents himself.

_To Professor Snape,_

_I apologize for my behaviour eight days ago. I shouldn't have shouted at you, especially those terrible things. I was angry and childish and very hurt. But let me explain myself._

_You see, for a while you never came to see me, not once during the holidays. And though I had been surrounded by many who were enjoying themselves and my own company it didn't feel right without you around. But I understood that you had a lot to do, including marking terribly written essays, drawing up lesson plans and other less savoury things. But when I came back to Hogwarts, you avoided me like the plague and when I did manage to corner you, you acted as if I wasn't even there. And it hurt Severus. It really hurt. And I didn't understand what was going on and then I started to wonder…_

'_Did I do something wrong?' 'Has he grown tired of me?' 'Was he angry that I managed to get the job he had always wanted?' And worst of all…_

'_Did he hate me?'_

_Had I done something wrong, I would have rectified it. Had you grown tired I would've done things I never would have dreamed of just to make you look at me again. And if you had been angry about the Dark Arts position, I would have just resigned. But had you hated me, I wouldn't have known what I would have done. I know that I'm being a silly sentimental girl and you would never have anything to do with one as it's not very Slytherin like. But right now, I don't care about appearances or images that one must portray in public…which was why I was so angry that day with you. I wanted to know so badly and you just wouldn't tell me at all. And then my mouth just ran off and so many horrible things came out…_

_Severus, I don't expect you to forgive me for anything. Did you know that Capricorns are known to be unforgiving and jealous? Said so in Harry's Divination textbook. It also mentions that Geminis are unable to be understood by others. But I suppose you didn't want to know that and you probably think I'm just a rambling little fool and have probably chucked this letter into the fire the first moment you realized it was written by me, but please don't be angry. Whatever trespasses I had made in the past that had upset you, please forgive me. But if you don't, then I don't mind if you don't want to see me anymore, but please just give me a reason. Any reason at all._

_Sincerely yours,_

Professor A. Valentine 

Severus stared at the letter, dumbfounded. That was the first time someone ever asked his forgiveness. Most just did what they did to him and then let it go as if it had never happened. And if they did apologize, they usually never meant any of it. And Severus never forgave. He held his grudges against Potter and his gang, even after spending a couple of years with his offspring and his little band of troublemakers. And it had become a habit over the years. He never forgave and he never forgot.

But it had really been his fault this time, hadn't it? It was almost lethal the way he jumped to the conclusion. Had he stayed longer, he might have seen something akin to shock on Sirius Black's face as he realized that he had kissed a doll instead of a real person. Had he stayed longer, he might have just resolved the entire situation. But he had been a coward, retreating to Hogwarts and then hiding himself away and ignoring the problem. And he had hurt her in a way that no physical pain could ever compare to and as he knew it well himself, he knew for as long as she lived she would never forget…

"_Oh, god. I could just die…_" said a forlorn voice in his mind; soft, feminine and alone. "_I wish I could just lie down and die!_"

"_Why? Why do you feel this!_"

"_Oh, Merlin…I wish I could tell you, but I **can't**…_"

"_What? Tell me what!_"

"_For the love of Merlin, Severus. Please don't ask me!_"

Severus was soon brought out of his depressing reverie when Arthur Weasley barged into the room with his entire family, plus Granger, announcing that he cured—completely cured to a near brawling Black and his other self with Potter squashed in the middle trying to keep his godfather down like the mongrel dog that he was.

"Merlin's beard," Arthur Weasley said as he beheld the scene in front of him, "what's going on here?" There was no word as Severus' memory pocketed his wand and went to the door.

"Six o'clock, Monday evening, Potter." He said before disappearing through the door with Severus close, giving a backward glance to the letter on the table. He expected for them to head out—as he had after the near scuffle—but his memory had gone straight upstairs, hands clenched and head held high. Oh, good lord. He was about to do something he never even dreamt about. He scrambled after himself and watched once again as his other self faltered—as he once did in a memory, not so long ago—and begin to stall himself.

"Go apologize, you fool!" he shouted at himself. There was nothing else he could do. "Or forgive her! Do something!" And he did, he knocked on the door. There came no answer, so the memory rapped on it again.

"Go away, Sirius! I'm not coming out!" came the slightly distressed and muffled shout from behind the door. The memory tried to enter anyways, but it had been locked shut.

"Alohomora." He whispered. He tried the door then, but it still wouldn't budge. He knocked again.

"Sirius—forgive the pun—but I am serious! Just leave me alone!"

"And I'll be severely cross if you refer to me as that mutt once again."

Silence.

Severus saw himself grimace, regretting the choice of words. He obviously hadn't meant to be biting at all, but the reflex was hard to keep down. But what was done was done. He tried again and changed the subject.

"I received your letter." He said, sounding awkward.

"…So you came?" she asked quietly, sounding less muffled. Perhaps she had moved to the door? But it remained shut still. "Even after all the things I said…?" She paused and he didn't dare interrupt her. "…Thank you." He wanted to ask her 'for what' and it showed, but still he remained silent. "I wonder though…why did you come?"

He hesitated, but tried to begin after a few moments. "I came here to ask you—"

"You know," she interrupted him gently, "I never thought badly of you…I may have become upset with you sometimes, Severus, but I know you're a good man…" And she smiled. He couldn't see it from where he was, but he was sure that she was smiling a little behind the door. "And I know that I can be very trying. I'm young, inexperienced and even a little downright crazy…I'm not so sweet or perfect like some women are…" 

"But it does not excuse my own behaviour towards you. It hadn't been justified. And…I shouldn't have hit you." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I wish to be forgiven, Al—" His words were interrupted again, this time by her soft laughter. Did she find this funny?

"Oh, Severus!" she said in the fashion she usually said his name which made him feel elated whenever he heard it from her lips. "What's there to forgive?" she asked him, echoing his words from earlier. She quieted down and a period of silence stretched between them once again before she spoke. "But Severus…can I have yours…?" The memory was about to say something, but once again, the White Lady's voice interjected with words of her own.

"No, never mind. I dare not ask for it." She told him. "Maybe another day, when I can see you…"

The memory looked perplexed. "Why can't I see you yet?" he inquired.

"I'm not ready to face the world yet." She answered. "Let me alone, for a little while longer, Severus…I'm still reeling from the pain, but I'll be able to heal now and the next time you'll see me, I'll be myself once again…" He felt her smile once again. "…please try to wait for me."


	8. Unable To Forget

A/N: Now introducing…SYMBOLISM. Blame my 'College Level English' teacher for this chapter. And yes…I've also gone 'sentence fragments' happy. You may also blame it upon my teachers. And the mushiness can be blamed on me. X3 Hell has frozen over! And OMG! I'm almost done with the fanfic! Huzzah! Just a bit more and I can work on the seque—Oh, god…I forgot I had to write a sequel…when will it end! And then there's the sequel I planned after that…and the bloody prequel as well! AAAAAAAGH! Somebody please tell me my writing sucks so I can stop writing these fanfics…

"…_Why have you been avoiding me?_"

"_I simply needed time to come to terms with something._"

"_What? What is it? Tell me._"

"_It's nothing. Just the simple feelings of a simple being._"

"…_Did I insult you again without realizing it?_"

"_Had you not insulted me at all today, Severus, that would have made me worried. No. My troubles lie elsewhere._"

"_Does it have to do with what you won't tell me?_"

"…_In a way. And I truly wish I could tell you everything, but I can't._"

"_I know I will never hear it from you and quite possibly be very cross by this fact, but rest assured…I am…I am…I care for you. Deeply. As loathe as I am to admit it openly I do not like this current mood of despair seeping into every single expression of yours whenever you're around me. Understand that._"

"_I'm sorry…_"

"_No, do not be sorry. I just simply want you to understand. I will always be by your side…forgiveness given to me by your hand or not for whatever atrocities I may bring. I do…want to see this war through…I want to see you by my side as we wed…You were meant for me._"

"…_You may see it as that, Severus, but I have already foreseen it. I may be meant for you, but…you have never been meant for me._"

He opened his eyes and stared at the dark canopy of his bed. He rolled out of bed ungracefully, pulling the sheets with him as he trudged his way to the bathroom. Next door he could hear the sounds of his concoctions cheerfully bubbling away. He turned the knobs of the overhead shower, trying to set it to cold.

"…I wonder…what it truly feels like to be caring about others so easily…?" he wondered aloud as he stripped himself and stepped into the cold water. He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath as the ice-cold water assaulted his skin. He pondered over her words. He found someone meant for him. He didn't quite know what to do.

Except to dream and remember.

It worried him immensely now, but in a different way. He was changing, he realized, thanks to these returning memories. The change was frightening him. It gave him a hope he used to dare not to have. Dreams surfaced while he stood in his waking hours as he tended to his brewing. Dreams came to him as he slept, his body wrapped in the dark cloth given to him by his master.

He understood why he longed.

He knew why he couldn't forgive…

Why sometimes he couldn't bring his mind to think…

Understand, unable to resist, why he couldn't simply just close his eyes and simply sleep.

But he still couldn't figure out why he couldn't recall anything on his own. Had he pulled the memories out himself he would at least have had the memory of himself sitting at a table and selectively choosing which recollections he wanted to put away. He was very certain that he would have remembered stuffing them into a music box of all things. The absurdity of it all would have been engraved into his memory unto eternity even after he had died a million deaths and been reborn twice as much.

He washed his hair in pensive silence, scrubbing away grease and those rotten potion fumes he was famous for emitting everywhere he went. He reached for the little bottle of conditioner next to the shampoo, but stopped short. His hand went for the shampoo and poured out a very liberal amount of it onto his head. He frowned heavily as he scrubbed even harder. Something told him that the White Lady had advised that he stopped using so much conditioner.

He just groaned. It was really hard not to think of her. It was disturbing…in more ways than one. It wasn't that he couldn't cease all his thoughts about the woman, but the strange times when she popped into his head when he spotted certain things did disconcert him. It didn't help his thoughts when he smelled the fragrance inside the shampoo.

Pansies.

It brought him back to the things he thought of when he first opened the music box.

The white pansies stood for 'thoughts of love' and in the language of flowers translated to: 'You are ever in my thoughts.'

A yellow pansy meant 'remembrance' and told someone 'Though you are absent I never cease to think of you.'

He stood a while in the running water, staring at the wall in silence.

Somehow it didn't seem as stupid to know these things as he did now like he thought it was back then. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, letting the sweat, grease and shampoo wash away with the cold, cold water. He turned the knob for the hot water, letting them mingle into a pleasant sort of warmth, partaking in the pleasant memories he had of the White Lady and himself that he did have.

"Purple pansies…souvenirs…" he said to himself, "…the thoughts of happy days spent together are my greatest treasure." He gave a shuddering sigh.

_So where did you go?_

--------------

"Three hours and counting." Severus said to himself to fill the void, as he walked from bubbling cauldron to bubbling cauldron. Each mixture seemed correct and none looked to be ready to combust the moment he looked away. He smiled. It was one of those perfect days. He strolled over to the desk at the far wall of the laboratory, picking up a quill and beginning to scrawl down a few notes. The music box sat quietly next to the book that he wrote in, awaiting the next time it could play its melancholic melody.

Looking more at peace with himself than usual, he laid the quill down and opened the music box. The silent room was quickly filled with its familiar tune, which brought to him memories under a snow filled moonlit night with a voice that sang only to him. He needn't look inside to know that a new memory awaited him, but upon inspection he did see that the once scratched out name wasn't so scratched out. Aside from the L he once glimpsed he now saw an 'A' and an 'I'. 'A', ''L' and 'I'. He had suspicions about the full first name of the White Lady, but he had already forgotten the habit of making assumption, especially concerning this mysterious and infinitely strange woman.

At least he knew that he could never be bored with her around…

It was so routine now for him to pick up the vial (this one labelled for July 13, 1996), pour it into his pensieve and dive into its contents that he found it almost surprising the speed of which he had immersed himself in the world of memories. The scene was set in his house on Spinner's End, his memory self being quite domestic as he poured tea into two cups. He had no assumptions here and could only make hypothesises based on what he did know of the time and what might occur. This time, he just decided to sit back and watch the show. It couldn't possibly be any worse than watching Black moon over his woman.

"Oh, what a cute little rat! I didn't know you kept a rat as a pet!"

On second thought, maybe it could get worse. As he recalled, Wormtail started to live with him in the later parts of June after the whole Ministry fiasco where quite a few in the Death Eater ranks ended up in Azkaban. His memory self had no shock on his face so began to weave a web of lies as to the dirty thing's appearance. And as if she wanted to rankle him, she gave the disgusting little poor excuse for a human being a kiss on his nose. Did she not know where he had been? The things he ate?

"Can I keep him?" she asked sweetly, walking around the small table in the middle of the room and taking a seat. She still held the balding rat in her hands, uncomfortably close to her bosom. Severus had to decide whether or not she was trying to suffocate Wormtail or truly insisting that she keep him as a pet. The filthy animal was gently removed from her grasp and set aside in a desk drawer. "Oh, Severus, you should really be careful with him…" she said, looking only slightly worried as her hands were delicately cleaned with a washcloth his other self went to fetch. In exasperation she said, "Severus, for goodness' sake. I'm not an invalid!" The memory gave her a pointed look.

"Your entire immune system, Miss Valentine, is considerably weaker than most human beings'," he began to explain, "which means that you're more likely to contract a disease that could quite possibly kill you. Add that to the fact that you're still trying to fight the poison that Umbridge used on you naturally—"

"You know I wouldn't have been able to stand those antidotes." She interrupted with a smile. "After all, I've now got a weak constitution to go along with that weak immune system of mine." She added sounding very amused with her rather dire sounding situation. Bloody woman was an optimist. She dusted off her skirt and picked up one of the steaming cups on the table. She took in the scent with a blissful sigh. "Peppermint and cinnamon. I'm flattered that you remember my favourite blend."

"Considering that your favourite blend happens to be the same as the only tea I keep in stock beside earl grey. I thought you loved jasmine tea?" he asked, taking a seat next to her.

"But considering it is yours, I happen to love it more." She replied evenly, a secretive smile coming on her coral red lips. "After all…won't I have to call this place 'home' one day?" The smile widened. "Or did you suddenly decide that after we got married that we'd go live even further away from Hogwarts?" The memory had the faint signs of a small blush, but he either hid it or she didn't notice or say anything.

"Now…what is it you're doing here today?" he asked, changing subjects. Idly, he awkwardly took her hand in his, staring avidly on the gold band round her ring finger. Severus gave a small smile of relief at seeing it and calculated the months it must have taken for her to be wearing it. Nearly over six months. Practically half a year. The things he must have done during all that time…

"Well, I have an appointment with Narcissa later this afternoon and I wanted this done before then."

"What are you doing with Narcissa?" the memory inquired calmly, his slightly knitted brows barely showing the concern he felt. Obviously, the man didn't want her moving about too much, considering everything. And Severus agreed. Recovering from being poisoned often left one sluggish and prone to sickness, especially without the aid of medicinal potions. If he ever met with Dolores Umbridge ever again, so help him…

The White Lady groaned in misery. "She's forcing me to shop." She answered. "Not that I mind, of course, Narcissa's really quite a nice person. But she's been a bit of a wreck lately and she's almost been making me shop with her every other day of the week when I'm not too tired to get out of bed. She said it was necessary I buy the correct things for—" And she stopped there, going bright red.

"Anyways," she said, "I needed to ask you a favor."

"What kind?"

"I need some of your memories."

No response. He just stared at her and Severus moved forward a bit in order to hear the conversation properly. Did she just ask for his memories?

"…What?"

"I need to borrow some of your memories." She repeated. "I promise I'll give them back."

The memory sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her. He had already let go of her hand. She gave him a pleading look close to that of a kicked puppy. She batted her eyes at him and he scoffed.

"Is there something in your eye?" he drawled. She sent him a glare.

The young woman simply rolled her eyes at him and gave him a dry reply. "Very funny, Severus." She gave a small indignant huff and feigned being insulted. "Really, Severus. They're just a few memories and I will give them back to you. And you get to choose them…to a certain degree. It's not as if I'm asking about…well…memories during your days as a Death Eater." She finished, giving him a hard look that Severus' other self wouldn't dare to meet. She took his hand, gently caressing his knuckles with a thumb.

"I just wanted to see…the memories of…" She looked at the floor. "…us."

"…Silly, sentimental girl. Are you sure you're in Slytherin?"

"Didn't I already explained that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Gryffindor about a year ago?"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Ah." She chuckled. "Well, I feel stupid." The two of them didn't say anything more for a bit and just sat there, quietly drinking tea. And this left Severus able to observe them. He was very hesitant to touch her and when he did, he limited the contact, true to his nature. He was no touchy feely person and he wasn't sure if he could be romantic; hugs were an awkward subject and he didn't even want to think about kissing anyone. He never had the time really. And she…

…well, she seemed to be shy. She did not hesitate, but she kept her affections light, gentle and very chaste. Like she seemed to feel there was no need for rush or passionate romancing. Watching her as he did now, pulling herself closer to his memory, he saw that she was simply happy enough being near him. Amusingly, she held onto his arm in a very childish way. She held onto his sleeve, grasping it with little force, but firm enough for him to know she was there.

Severus rubbed his fingers together, wondering if he could remember how her hand felt in his. He knew he could never fully recover these memories if they had been lost to him. He could never experience the same thing twice. He was an outsider looking in on an event he could not partake in. And his mind raced. This was a life he could only dream about. Calm and peace with someone else for the rest of his life, even if one did find it boring it was perfect for him.

Now Severus wondered. Why? What made him forget nearly everything?

He looked over at the memory and the White Lady.

What happened so that they weren't together?

Dread spread throughout him as dark prospects filled his mind. There was something worse afoot and it was being hidden with the shroud of pleasantry. A few happy memories had worked him up to the fight he had with the White Lady over her unfaithfulness. Could this memory and the next be working him up to something even worse?

"I concede." The memory said finally, after much deliberation. "But only if you swear to return them to me."

"Severus Snape…are you accusing me of being forgetful?"

"Knowing you, you would have forgotten your head had it not been fastened to your shoulders with your neck."

She gave another huff, but let it slide with a wry smile. She went through her pockets and produced some empty corked vials, labels, a quill and a small inkbottle full of what appeared to be Canadian brand India ink. She looked at him expectantly, while he gave her a slightly confused stare. They said nothing.

"Came prepared, did you?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. His words would have stung any unwary person, but once again they had not fazed her. She just smiled smugly as if she knew that he would have given in to her whims eventually. Given the past circumstances, Severus agreed. Words wound much more fiercely than any blade could. They hit deeper, festered terrifically when left alone and had dire consequences. A person may live after a verbal attack, but one could never really tell if they were truly alive or not. "Cheeky little snake."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She said, counting the vials as she laid them down one by one on the table before them. She rolled up her sleeves and turned to the memory. "Now lets get started…The reason I want your memories is, well…I like seeing how others think, especially when they think about me. Of course…whether or not these thoughts are favourable depends on the person I wish to speak to…But really, I wish to make copies of the memories as a sort of reminder…"

"A reminder?"

"In case…well…should something ever happen." At this she looked at the floor, suddenly finding her shoes of great interest. And she had not done this coyly. It was clear to him and Severus that something was very wrong. But the memory did not press the matter, at least not for the moment. He brought a hand to her chin and lifted her face up so he could look her in the eye. She blinked her eyes in slight confusion then averted them guiltily. She then covered up the guilt with a smile. "You have your secrets and I have mine." She told him. Brightly she asked, "Now tell me…which memories do you think were pleasant?"

"Define pleasant." He said, sitting back in his seat, looking over to the closed drawer with the rat in it. Severus glowered at it. Wormtail had better have become deaf, otherwise something horrible would happen to him the first moment he set his eyes upon him again.

"Not utterly horrible. Enjoyable. Something…nice." She answered, crossing her arms. She waited expectantly, as if she were a judge waiting for a verdict from the jury. "I'm very sure you enjoyed something in life, Severus. Like…I don't know…perhaps when you brought those flowers for me a few years back." His memory raised a brow.

"You remember that?" he inquired incredulously.

"Of course. Asphodel and wormwood. I'm sure that was pleasant enough." She picked up one of the vials and held it out to him. "If you find it such a useless memory, then you can let me have it without a worry."

"But I wouldn't call that pleasant." She glared. "But it is pleasant enough." He acquiesced to the deadly feminine glare that turned into a girlishly nice smile. The man took out his wand and pressed it against his temple. He dug around a bit in his mind before beginning to pull out the silvery strand of memory and depositing it into the awaiting vial. It was corked and labelled for July 21st, 1995. He gave the glass tube a slightly confused look, but soon regained his composure for the rest that was at hand. He put the wand to his temple and began searching.

"Oh? Found one already? Which is it?" she requested.

"The Yule Ball." He answered. She said no more on that subject, except blushing a light pink while she corked and labelled the new memory in her hands before putting it away safely with the other. "Is that enough? Or should there be more?" The young woman thought for a few moments before giving him his answer.

"There are others…but I'm not so sure if I should ask this or not. But I do want to know what you had been thinking…_seeing_." Once again her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped with shame. "I want to know how you felt during those days."

"What days?"

"Um…you know…'round Christmas time and New Years."

Silence.

Quickly, three vials were filled in.

"You know…I could never hate you."

"I know. But for a few moments you forgot you couldn't…and I needed to be reminded…"

She coughed and things went on. She put on a smile once again and looked him in the eye, suddenly full of unending energy and optimism. She looked to be the epitome of mischievous behaviour and child-like light. With a soft hand, she reached up and caressed the side of his face, bringing hers close to his, but never actually touching. Finger found some locks of his hair and gently wound themselves in them. And he looked down at her, looking for all the world as the tired man he truly was. And Severus himself felt it as he watched…the ghost of her hand on his cheek, pushing those curtains of dark hair away from his too pale face. There was a feeling to what he felt then. Reverence. He hadn't felt it since he first fell down into darkness, the sweet despair one could only feel when one's soul was too blackened and presented with one who was cleaner and purer than them.

"Severus…there's still a few left." She stated softly, her voice barely above whispering. "I have to ask…what's your most treasured memory?" At this, he chuckled.

"Treasured?"

"Alright precious then, if you're going to be insufferable about it."

The memory thought about it for a while, keeping quiet to himself. He picked up his cold cup of tea and sipped from it as he pondered the question. He glanced at her, finding the young woman gazing back fondly. Not saying anything, he picked up the shawl around her shoulders and pulled it up so it now draped around her head. He smiled a little as he smoothed out her hair a bit, picking up a long lock of her own nearly midnight black hair. Severus noticed that it was much longer now than it was in past memories. It was ridiculously longer, actually.

"It never used to be this long." He commented. "I remember how short it used to be when you were younger…much younger." He chuckled. "You were such a child. And I watched you grow older since then. Wiser, more wonderfully perfect and yet…weaker…sicker. I haven't felt fear for another in a long time…" He looked into her eyes.

"I feel as if you're becoming distant…as if you will soon be going to a place I cannot follow." He whispered reverently, afraid to shatter the image before him. "The most precious memory that I hold is one I do not want to give up…so you had better remember your promise to me." She nodded.

"Of course."

And the memory ended there.

--------------------

Severus arrived out of the pensieve in time to add in the next ingredient of the potions before they became unsalvageable. The music box had stopped playing long before and he was kept busy for the next while. Mass production of any sort of mixture was never something he enjoyed, but the recipes entailed were so routine that the rhythm of work helped him to continue to sort things out in his mind.

He was starting to see more of her now, if he tried really hard enough. Her image was as elusive as her name, though he dare not speak out his guesses. A person's name could be a powerful thing and there could be unknown consequences if he dared to speak hers aloud. He wasn't ready to see her just yet. Not until he made sense of everything first. No, more like come to terms with before he got on. If the latest memory was anything to go on for him, then the next was the last and he could finally move on…but did he? There were still many questions left unanswered, such as 'Why were they apart?'

It was something to ponder on. He had gotten to know the woman in the memories; fell for her and cared for her. He was at peace by her side, content and most likely very joyous (on the inside). But she was nowhere in sight. There was not a whisper amongst anyone about her. Surely others must know of her existence, so why did they not question him about it? It did seem strange. Not long ago did he never think of her, like she had never been there. And now he doubted himself and everything. Had his mind been warped into thinking there was someone? Was it a trick? He could just as easily go and ask either Narcissa or Wormtail or even Draco Malfoy about her to quell any doubt within him. The memories had to be real. What he felt was real enough.

The anger, the misery…the guilt and longing…

…The peace and tranquility of mind…the reverence of her smile and faint caress of her voice…

But memories could be manufactured; Love could be bottled.

It plagued him to no end. It was as if he had been sent back to square one when he had opened the music box for the first time after so much time of just letting it sit there. He was indecisive and unbelieving.

And he had changed. With every new memory shown to him, he turned into a man he never knew he could be. He had thought himself of darkness, a spy meant to play the role of a spy in order to keep the balance of chaos and order in check. The scales had been tipped however when he turned his wand upon Albus Dumbledore.

He laughed. It had been a great shock for him to see the man in those memories. Had he lived, perhaps he would have asked him about his predicament. As senile as the old man was he was very wise and his insight could have pierced the foggiest of conundrums. But he supposed because he didn't live that he, Severus Snape, ended up in such a gut-wrenching situation. Everything would end up tearing him to pieces after the fated final battle was waged. It wasn't a prospect he looked forward to at all…

"_I do…want to see this war through…I want to see you by my side as we wed…_"

He wasn't going to see it through, as he was sure she would not be by his side. She seemed almost fictional to him now as he thought about it. Too perfect. Unreal. She was Erised given human form, ready to crack and break into a million pieces if he realized the illusion. But she could be real. That was his hope, even if hope was a very dangerous thing. Spies do not live because they hoped.

"_Drifting, drifting, drifting…_" whispered a voice at the back of his mind. "_…How about you trying not to think too hard for once?_"

Thinking too hard? He wasn't thinking too hard.

"_Oh, yes, you are._"

He sighed. Wonderful. It wasn't bad enough remembering things, he was hearing voices as well. What was next? The music box was going to wind itself up and start to play—

He nearly jumped a mile as he whirled around to look at the desk where the music box spontaneously began to churn out its melody. The raven chased after the dove; the dove chased after the raven. Carefully, he approached the desk. Once he stood in front of the box it stopped playing. He reached inside and pulled out the vial marked as 'Severus' Most Precious Memory (October 31st, 1992)'.

He didn't mess around this time. He just got down to it. And it would have been nice to say that his most precious moment involved love at first sight or that she just fell into his arms, ready to be the blight of the darkness of their times, but it wasn't so.

It was just your everyday night, filled with fear permeating the entirety of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And he had been annoyed—angry even. But there was one thing worthy enough to make that night slightly different than all the rest.

It was unforgettable.

----------------------

It was Halloween. The school was decorated with jack-o-lanterns, streamers, and bats, more candles than were strictly necessary and cobwebs and spooks. The extra amounts of ghosts came of their own accord, some riding horses and were headless, asking for directions to the dungeons that he pointed out rigidly. The insufferable brats of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were enjoying themselves to the fullest, indulging in mountains of sweets upon mountains of sweets than was healthy for them. Severus' memory sat at the staff table, mulling over mashed potatoes and cranberry jelly over his rib of lamb while Lockhart chattered animatedly next to him about how he so heroically defeated a werewolf in Bangladesh.

How on Earth had the curly haired dolt received the job of being the Dark Arts master at Hogwarts was beyond him.

Severus moved around the four House tables, familiarizing himself with the situation. The Hufflepuffs were more roguish than usual as well as loud; the Slytherins were enjoying themselves in their own isolated way; the Ravenclaws gave him nothing to give note of and the Gryffindors, well…He could already see what was missing from the picture there and that was the Golden Trio comprised of Granger, Weasley and Potter. He never did know exactly why those three had been missing from the Feast and, frankly, he didn't want to know. It did irk him though, judging from his memory's sullen expression.

The festivities must have been drawing to an end because Professor Dumbledore called for the students' attention in order to tell them it was time for bed. Everyone began to file out after that as plates and bowls of food disappeared from view, creating a jam at the main entrance. Most of the professors took a more private route to their quarters while the rest—including Dumbledore, Lockhart, McGonagall and himself—had to take the main way in order to get to their own private chambers.

The memory took his time exiting the Great Hall, his eyes lingering on the Slytherin table where a black book had been left carelessly. He watched his other self sighed irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose before he picked it up and kept it in the sleeves of his robes. Severus concluded that a second year might have forgotten it. While walking with his memory, watching everything around him it didn't take them long to hear Draco's young voice—had he been so young?—shouting nastily, beginning the real events of that night.

So far, as he saw it, it was truly a lousy night.

He found himself in and out of Lockhart's office quickly enough, not wanting to relive those few minutes stuck with that blowhard more than once so he paid no attention to it. The full year he spent with the man had been quite enough, never mind going through those moments in time again. Although he wouldn't mind having another go at a duel with him. His expressions and reactions the first time had been hysterical. Almost enough to start him off in chuckles.

"…I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in, smiling in his 'charming' way. Severus had to fight from gagging childishly. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," the memory snapped icily, "but I believe I am the Potions master at this school." He glared territorially at Lockhart as an awkward silence spread throughout the office. It was one thing or another and nearly everything else that irked Severus Snape about Gilderoy Lockhart, especially that large mouth of his. He had often wished to take a nail and hammer to his lips in order to keep them shut forever. Albus dismissed Potter and his band of miscreants as Lockhart began to sputter off nonsense to him in a weak sort of defence.

"Just shut up before I do something we'll both regret." The memory told the blond curtly in annoyance.

"Never mind that. What should we do now, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall asked of the headmaster. She looked anxious and worried, if a little fearful. The headmaster sighed and shook his head wearily.

"For now, Minerva…we shall do nothing." He answered quietly. "It is late and we'd think better if we all had some sleep." His gaze swept those present in the room and found no objections. Filch gave a dry sob in lament for his cat. The old man nodded and gestured that they all headed off to bed before the hour became even later. Minerva and Albus went together and Lockhart hastily retreated his own room to hide from him. Filch stayed in the office, wailing almost piteously. He made his way out.

During the walk to his chambers, he met up with a couple of students out of bed who ended up losing their houses a varied amount of points depending on who they were. He bumped—sort of—into some of the Hogwarts ghosts who looked rather chipper, considering they were the spiritual imprints of dead people. He even met up with the Bloody Baron who was singing rather enthusiastically all the way from the Slytherin corridors.

Besides that, all was quiet, yet disturbing. Nothing to really note as either happy or…well, it was a miserable night. There wasn't much redeeming about it. It seemed to him a very ordinary memory.

He stalked alongside his memory, looking around almost nostalgically at the old stone walls where he spent almost all of his life inside. He had been so glad to leave when he graduated, but when he had been forced to flee he felt that he missed it. Despite the brats, the long hours, the tedious marking and several unsavoury people he'd rather not be talking to let alone get along with…he really wish he could go back. Looking at things through the missing memories…he had a good life.

The lights began going off, so they hurried, but the darkness engulfed them quickly. Luckily, they knew the corridors by heart and it wasn't as if the place was entirely pitch black. Severus could still see in front of him, so it was alright not to use 'lumos'.

They rounded a corner, almost reaching the door when Severus' memory stopped and stared. Severus was almost thrown for a loop himself. There was an apparition in front of him, one that was draped entirely in a snow-white sheet glowing in the darkness. Was it Peeves playing a joke or one of the students out to ask something of him? He didn't really know and his memory was rather irritated by this fact. He had had enough with everything and would like to do exactly what the headmaster suggested and go to sleep. The memory strode forward briskly and opened his mouth to tell the person off when she turned to look at him.

It was one of those often-described moments where time stood still just for a moment and one experienced a piece of divinity. She had never been a classic beauty with a very slim frame or small stature, red lips that shamed the reddest of roses or had gold of sunshine in her hair. But the way she looked to him in this moment, so frail, innocent and pure…untouchable. It hurt to look upon her, but he couldn't tear his eyes away…not when her looked at him with such a wide-eyed gaze. He saw her entire face then, framed by delightfully dishevelled hair and in the glow of wandlight.

Had she more elven qualities, he might have said something about Luthien right then and there, but somehow Tolkien didn't seem to be a good way of describing how he felt. But she was a mere mortal, not an ageless elf, young and lovely in her own way. Especially when her dark eyes shined so brightly as if they held their own inner light coupled with the smile he had grown fond of during the time he knew her.

And with this…he knew everything. In one huge stream, memories unlocked in his mind and he began to recall them all.

The first day he met Alice in Albus' office…

…her playfulness and encouragement…

…her illnesses all during her years at Hogwarts…

…the secret rendezvous…

…his nomination of her as Dark Arts mistress…

…her jealousy of Narcissa Malfoy…

…her knowledge of his past and acceptance of it…

…the ring…the proposal…her answer!

…And…

"…Alice?" the memory whispered quietly.

"Professor Snape." She greeted. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but you said that should I ever need anything that I should come see you and—"

"What is it you need to see me about?"

"I can't sleep…not alone. I know it's rather improper, but I didn't know who else to turn to."

"For normal circumstances, I wouldn't even consider it. However, as there's danger lurking about the school it would be safer if you do not return to your chambers tonight…"

"I'm sorry, Professor…"

"And Alice?"

"Yes?"

"I think this book belongs to you."

"My sketchbook…"

Alice Valentine: Student professor of Slytherin House; part time school choir coordinator and instigator of intellectual (and not so intellectual) fights. She assisted in some of his classes and in many of his private projects. She was his bride-to-be, but he had…

"Oh! My music box!" Alice yelped as she accidentally dropped the little oak box on her way inside Severus' chambers. The box popped opened and began to play the old familiar melancholy tune, the raven forever chasing after the dove in a continuous circle. Severus stared as his memory self picked it up for her, looking at it intently.

"Where did you get this?" the memory inquired politely.

"From Albus." She replied truthfully. "He's a bit of a friend. He got to it to cheer me up."

"The music seems rather sad." He noted.

"…It's my second favourite song." She told him with a smile. She gently took the music box back from him. She shut the lid and opened a side compartment with a tricky sort of latch and tinkered with the inside. She then closed it up and wound up the key. "This particular song is my absolute favourite…and it's not because it has the same name as me." She mentioned with a soft laugh before opening the box again so it could start playing.

It was quiet, almost a lullaby. It wasn't so melancholy as the other song, though it was exceptionally slower and simpler. But it was gentle and sweet. It was probably why she liked it. Alice had always had a gentle personality.

"I see…" was all the memory said. "It's different."

_And so were you, Alice. You were different._ Severus thought to himself. _And I couldn't have been happier. You meant more to me than life itself at times. That's the irrationality of love…_

And she had known. She had known perfectly well how things were going to end. Through all the years they spent together with all the events leading up to the colossal fight at Hogwarts…she had know he would leave her behind. She knew that no matter if he thought she belong with him…he could never belong to her. Not if they were separated as they were now.

_Alice…what did I do?_


	9. Unable To Live

A/N: Yes, that was anti-climatic. I'm tired and have been writing non-stop on lots of projects….KILL ME NOW! And be warned…this skips ahead. Yeah…this coincides with a chapter from a companion fanfic I've yet to write. Hehehe…So anyways…on with the fic!

Fading memories…reconstructed memories…and a dream. A dream of you in a world without you…

Sora's Ending, Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories

It was over.

Finally over.

It was really a wonder how he was still even alive. Then again, love was the strongest shield against any dark magic…or at least a good incentive to survive. But he had not coward in the face of danger. He faced it head on in order to bring the Dark Lord's end. All those lost lives would have not been in vain, especially not hers.

Severus lay quietly on the stone floor of Hogwarts somewhere near the Great Hall, bleeding from the various wounds he procured in the large-scale scuffle between nearly the entire Wizarding World and the forces of darkness. If it wasn't the entire world at its own neck, it had felt like the entire world was there, fighting and shedding blood for the Cause. Each person had a different Cause from the next. Some selfish. Others selfless. Severus' was somewhere in between. His Cause had not been for the world at large, but for one specific individual. Well, a couple really. And himself.

He had to make up for what he had done to the Potters, especially Lily Evans Potter. Had he been a much less callous youth he might have had a friend throughout the years. She had been a good acquaintance who he sometimes sought out in the library. She had been the only one kind enough to approach him. And he couldn't save her. To her he owed a fight against the Dark Lord.

Next was Albus Dumbledore who had great plans that he had wished to set into motion that could have benefited them all. He had been well loved, a symbol of perseverance, determination, cunning and absolutely batty ideas. He had been almost as good as a father to him compared to his real father and any other replacements he tried to have. He should have lived where Severus should have certainly died. To him he had to continue the masquerade and fight on.

And to Alice…he owed his love, for he surely had not shown her enough of it while she lived. She who wished to never be forgotten who wiped his memory of her so he could focus on the larger Cause and not on her, the woman who never stood a chance at life. Severus covered his face with his damaged hands, trying very hard not to let out a sob as he coughed up a bit of blood. He could remember every single moment he spent with her, but that single minute in time had stood out the most.

And Severus had to run then. There was no turning back. He had to get Draco out of the castle and to safety before the Ministry came. He himself had no possible future besides that of a convict, but Draco, the boy who had done nothing to deserve a sentence in Azkaban had to get away—to hide. And Narcissa, too, if he could handle it. He had to hide those two. It had been for those moments of flight that he had done the dangerous thing of forgetting.

He forgot all sense, all propriety and calmness. He tossed out thoughts of others from his mind as it centred itself solely on the survival of himself and his ward. He had forgotten that Alice wouldn't have let him leave unscathed. There had been no way he could have stayed and no way she could have left. It was a dilemma he was met with all too quickly.

She blocked the way.

Between the cowering students she kept safely shielded and blocking them off from leaving she never could have been able to defend herself properly. He never imagined her in a more fierce calmness however. She did not cry, though her eyes held a disappointed and sad look to them. It had almost driven him mad. And he spoke to her briefly as they locked eyes.

_Save your tears, because I'll come back for you._ _I will return before the end of your next year._ That was what he told her in that one glance. She pursed her lips and shook her head, gripping her wand.

"No, you won't." she whispered, confusing those around her. She raised her wand at the same time as he did. It had been well enough for him to think back then that a harmless Cutting spell would have been enough to distract her so he and Draco could escape. He thought she would have blocked it and be much slower. But the stakes had been high and she had quite the gamble to play. She had been only slightly faster than him. Just the fraction of a millisecond was enough to give her the upper hand.

She had always been a very apt pupil when he taught her and her memory charms could put Lockhart to shame.

"Obliviate!"

She could be very selective about the memories she erased and how she pieced the remaining ones back together. And they were generally unnoticeable to the one who had it cast on them by her. So for a few moments he knew nothing and then came back to his senses in the exact same amount of time.

There was a very large flaw with this though. One had to focus an incredible amount of concentration before attempting such an energy-wasting venture. And considering the amount of memory she had to erase and reconstruct in a small amount of time, it took a lot of energy she usually did not have.

And Alice exploited this flaw perfectly to fit into her plan to eradicate herself from existence. She too had thought she had no future outside of the war then. Instinctively, she must have known he would not be able to return to her as promised and decided that she should be lost in memory. Should he ever live to see the next day he was going to have a long talk to her about her issues with living.

"Reducto." His harmless little spell had turned out not so harmless in the end and he left her bleeding on the ground without so much as a thought to her, dragging Draco the entire way.

Severus shoved the memory away and turned on his side, struggling to get up. It was June 13, the day Harry Potter finally defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort and the day he promised to return and he had it on good authority that Alice was still inside the castle, waiting for him. It was her birthday after all. She was going to be twenty-five this year and she was probably eager to celebrate something. He wondered idly what she had done over the last year…

Had she thought about him?

He certainly thought about her, even if he didn't remember her.

He began to crawl, slowly working up energy to stand up and walk. What was the time then? How many had died? Who survived? He didn't know and he wondered. As he stood upright, he stumbled and fell onto the stone steps to the next floor. One by one, he pulled himself up, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He had to find her, even if it killed him.

--------------------

It had been rather unprecedented, even more so than Dumbledore's tomb. But her friends had said that she would have appreciated the gesture—laughed gaily at the insinuation had she been alive to hear of it. But she had not lived and quite a few were affected by the death of Alice Valentine. The entire school had not shown up—who would really after the colossal battle waged within its walls. The ones who did were the ones who mattered most. There had been no fanfare, no pomp and circumstance, but it had been beautiful in its own right and would have made her very happy.

Alice's religion—or private life in general—had been rather unclear during her stay at Hogwarts, so some had been very confused as to what should be done for her. Nobody was able to contact her family—if she had one—and it wasn't as if she left anything behind like a last testament. Everything had to be made up as they went along.

The surviving younger Slytherin students (of whom she mothered since their first arrival at Hogwarts) conjured and arranged flowers to the best of their ability with the help of some of the elder students who knew her. Talks had been made between the merpeople of the lake and Alice's childhood friend, Vladimir, for the burial grounds which was consequently underwater. Her other friends prepared some speeches and a rather lengthy eulogy in her honour, while trying to keep each other's morale up. And Severus…

…He had been the lucky one chosen to send the coffin adrift with her body lying inside. He sat alone next to the funeral barge, holding Alice's music box as it played her favourite song. He had switched the song as it had been shown to him once upon a time. Nobody questioned or ventured near him as he sat vigil, the tune twinkling softly. He had been treated, so he had very few scars or bandages to speak of on him since that day. He stared at nothing, his eyes almost glazed over.

In the past two decades of his life he had gone through Hell and back again and never once did he lose his nerve. He survived and moved on for he could not stop, as there was always something that had to be done; he had a reason to keep going. Now that everything had ended and nearly everything had been wrapped up neatly with the wonderful happy fairytale end where Light triumphed over Darkness and the hero got his princess there really wasn't anything left for him.

Not with her gone.

Severus Snape helped to save the world. Hurray. He could care less. Had he the choice, he would have just let the entire world fall into the hands of Darkness itself. It was still as decadent as ever, just without the Dark Lord looming over it. Nothing had changed. Students mocked and glared at him hatefully behind his back, Potter had the woman of his dreams and he was still as miserable and surly as ever. Women were being raped in the Americas, children were committing suicide in the Orient and someone in Africa was murdering a man from another tribe. What a lovely world he helped to save.

He turned to look at the closed casket, staring despondently. "Left behind again." He whispered as he let his head rest against the wood and closing his eyes. He gripped the music box in his hands. "Why did you have to go to the only place I cannot follow?" he asked quietly, hoping she was just playing a very elaborate and sick joke on him. Maybe the Weasley twins were pulling the wool over his eyes? But that was wishful thinking.

"I waited for you…" he said, moving a hand to cover his eyes. A tear fell. "I promised I would be there…Merlin, why didn't you wait? Just one more moment…just one more would have been enough." He started crying as each word spilled out, letting almost every bottled up emotion he had within him come forth as his tears fell. He hadn't cried at the news of her death, having been in a state of shock. But now, he sobbed terribly, his entire frame shaking. He only remembered ever crying like this twice in his life: when his mother died and the week after he killed Albus.

And he felt like he was falling and falling and falling…

"Guess who!" demanded a joyful voice from behind him as hands slipped around to cover his eyes. A twinkling laughed followed and he blinked in confusion. He said nothing and looked to the essays through the spaces between her fingers. She huffed and took her hands away. "Oh, you're no fun at all!" she told him, walking around the desk so that she faced him. He looked up at her, bewildered.

"…I had the most terrible nightmare." He said finally, not really believing what was going on. She smiled sweetly at him and pulled a seat close to listen to him. "A very terrible nightmare…you were dead!" She gave him an odd look.

"Dead? Really?" She shifted a bit in her chair. "Severus…you're morbid."

"Five points from Slytherin for your cheek." He said automatically.

"That's very unfair to the Slytherins." She pointed out. "Five points to Slytherin…because I say so." She then laughed softly and moved herself into his arms, holding him tight. "But you are alright…I mean…really alright? I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you…" She pressed her face to his chest. "…I think I'd die."

Mindlessly, Severus reassuringly stroked along her hair, running his fingers through it and pushing it back. He quietly whispered to her as he held her there, feeling as if nothing were wrong in the world. And she kept close to him silently. He heard the whisper of a melody play around them, simple and sweet.

And so sad.

And he looked up to find her not in his arms, but sitting in front of a baby grand, playing on it carefully and a little awkwardly. She wore blue robes and her hair was tied up with a blue ribbon; she seemed a bit older, more careworn than the girl he had just held in his arms. She sat alone atop a stage with a single light shining down on her. She stopped momentarily and turned to look at him. She smiled and continued to play.

"Good evening, Severus." She greeted mildly. "What brings you down here? Can't sleep?" She smiled secretively, her eyes twinkling at the music sheets in front of her. She hit a sour note and then another. She stopped the music and took a quill to make a note on the sheets. "Or could it be possibly…something else?"

"I…I…"

"You're very articulate tonight, Severus." She commented silkily. She set her fingers on the ivory keys and started to play again. She began the melody straight from the beginning, humming along with it in that irritatingly flat way. The woman switched to singing the tune, which was a great relief. "What ails you, Severus Snape?" He glared at her, stepping forward boldly.

"What ails me?" he asked heatedly. "What ails me? Two minutes ago, you were dead!" She pressed down with all her fingers, creating disharmony. She stared at him.

"Dead?" she repeated, sounding incredulous. She stood up from her seat and walked over to him away from the light. She reached up and felt his forehead, cheeks and neck. "Hmmm…you're not feverish…Honestly, Severus, if that's your idea of a joke I am not amused one little bit." She huffed and returned to the piano to continue playing. "Honestly."

"But you were dead…I saw you. Your body…Madam Pomfrey…it was midnight, Cinderella!" he shouted, moving forward again as he swelled up with frustration made by his confusion of the situation. "You were dead!"

She pointedly ignored him for the moment, brows furrowed and eyes set in concentration. She made some final notes to the music sheets before turning her attention back to him. She sat up straight, hands primly in her lap. "And what would you do if I was?" she asked.

That was the thing, wasn't it? He didn't know. If she were dead, what would he do? Why, he'd try his damned hardest to get her back if he were desperate enough. Take retribution in her name.

One catch: How does one take vengeance for someone if the one seeking revenge is seeking it against himself?

"Severus, promise me…if something should happen…don't bring me back." The woman before him looked at him seriously as she said these words, brows furrowed in worry. Her lips were set and her hands shook. "Promise me." He still said nothing. "Severus!" She stood again and stalked over to the older man and shook him by the shoulders.

"Severus!"

"Severus!"

"Severus, promise me!"

"Severus, wake-up!"

"Mother, is he alright?"

"In a moment, Draco. Severus!"

"Severus…please…"

"This should do it…Aguamenti!"

Severus was doused thoroughly with a shot of ice-cold water. He shot up from his seat, drenched, wide eyed and pointing his wand madly all around. His breaths came out in laboured snorts, but they eventually became calm as he realized whom he was about to hex into oblivion. He sighed and put his wand away and fell back into his chair. He didn't even want to look at the missing coffin next to him or the people in front of him, so he covered his face with his hands.

"Narcissa."

"Severus."

Silence.

"…How are you, Severus?" Narcissa asked as she dried the dark man off with a spell. Draco stood awkwardly next to her, looking about nervously. He wrung his hands a bit and shifted from foot to foot. It was almost as if he expected an attack from something or someone with the way he threw glances over his shoulders. His mother hit him once so he'd stop fidgeting. "How are you…taking all this?"

"The Dark Lord's survival and all the subsequent torture he would render upon my body would have been more favourable to this." He replied.

Silence again.

Tentatively, the older woman spoke once again. "…You don't mean that." Severus said nothing to that. If he did it would have brought back too many painful memories. 'That's exactly what she would say.' That would have been his answer and he would have sent himself into a downward spiral of guilt and self-loathing where with each tear he lamented Alice's death. But he couldn't bring himself to cry anymore. Not in front of Narcissa at least. "You look awful. Haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

"The service is beginning, Mother." Draco stated, looking down the way. "We should be going." The woman nodded and began to follow her son to the lakeshore, but stopped to look at the broken man behind her. She walked over and gently pulled his sleeve.

"Severus…hurry…" she said. "Nobody will wait for us, I'm sure. She would have liked to have had you around for the funeral at least." She tried to urge the man a bit more until he relented. Narcissa watched as he carefully laid the still music box on his chair before leaving it behind to follow her. He tried not to look back for some reason and it piqued her curiosity. The music box was rather infamous and she had only seen it once. She really wondered what was so special about it.

It was a dirty little old box with a wilted flower inside with two little birds suspended in the air with wire, a dove being chased by a raven…

…or was it the other way around?


End file.
